We Would All Go Down Together
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Completely AU story with the NCIS characters in 1968 Vietnam, yes, during the Vietnam War. It begins with Tony and Gibbs getting a new member on their Scout Sniper team. One Tim McGee, a Marine nobody wants. It features Tim, but has a heavy focus on Tony and Gibbs as well, plus Ziva. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Just as a friendly warning. This is a totally AU story...and it's new territory for me. I've taken the NCIS characters and put them in 1968 Vietnam. This idea sprang out of a desire to do something about the Vietnam War after playing and singing "Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel. As of right now, it's not quite finished, but with my one chapter per day pattern, that gives me a month to finish it, and I'm almost done. :) I am not an expert on the Vietnam War. I'm a medieval and ancient historian, but I've done my best to get the dates right and some of the details. I hope that anyone who does have experience in Vietnam is not offended by any errors. I have a lot of respect for those who serve in the military, and I do not want to cause anyone pain by getting something horribly wrong. I am aware that the language I'm using is not as...authentic, but I don't swear and I'm not willing to start just for fanfiction. :)

I hope you'll all give me some leeway in this experimental AU. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS, the characters or "Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel. I'm not making any money off this story.

* * *

**We Would All Go Down Together  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

"You're getting a new guy tomorrow, Gunny."

Gibbs looked up at the voice and sighed. A new guy. It seemed like they were _all_ new guys. And as soon as one fell, another got put in his place. Pacci had died last week. Everyone in the platoon knew he'd be replaced. Now, here was Major Morrow telling him that the replacement was on his way.

"When did he get here?" Gibbs asked. "Last week?"

"Last year."

That got Gibbs' attention. He straightened and actually gave Morrow the benefit of his attention.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I thought that would interest you."

"What do you mean? Sir?"

"I mean that he's already been here for a year. His first battle was at Hill 881."

"His _first_?"

"Yep. Came out of it without a scratch, did his part. Baptism by fire...like lots of them get. He's a good Marine."

"Then, why am I getting him? You never give me the good ones. You give me the greenies."

"That's because you're good at helping them learn to survive. If you weren't such a pain in the butt, I'd force you to take a platoon."

"So why am I getting this one?"

"Because he doesn't want to go home and no one else wants him."

Gibbs stood up.

"What do you mean? Everyone wants out of here."

"Not everyone. Not this one. His squad was killed on assignment. He's the only survivor. Just got cleared for duty again. A bit of a loose cannon, people think."

"Is he really? I don't need a loose cannon. DiNozzo gives me enough trouble."

"He would be under anyone else."

"But not under me?"

"I don't think so."

"Why doesn't he want to go home?"

"Don't know."

"What happened to his squad?"

"Typical. Reconnaissance. Ambush. Driven into a landmine. Your man was behind and he was protected by the ones in front of him."

"All killed?"

"Three survived initially, but he's the only one who made it back to report."

"You sure he didn't just run off and leave them?"

"As sure as we can be. He has an exemplary record up to now."

"So exemplary that no one wants him?" Gibbs asked.

Morrow smiled. "Special request from Major Vance. Don't know what the guy told him to keep him here where he probably shouldn't be, but it worked and no one will have heard of him over here. So we'll take him and you'll use him. If he doesn't work out, then, we send him packing."

"Before or after he gets _my_ men killed?"

"Preferably before."

"And what's this cannon's name?"

"McGee. Tim McGee. It's been decided, Gunny."

"Understood, sir." Gibbs saluted and then watched Major Morrow walk away.

"What did Morrow want, Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked over at the other current member of his unit. As one of the Scout Sniper teams in the STA platoon, he only had to work with a few people at a time. All the better as far as he was concerned. He'd had a kind of revolving door new members of his unit. Some were killed, others just transferred. It seemed like as soon as he got them into a state where they were any good, they left. They'd at least left him Tony.

"Pacci's replacement."

"Oh." Tony didn't look happy about that. They'd both liked Pacci. Green, he may have been, but he'd learned fast...until one of the Viet Cong got him.

"Gotta happen."

"Well, who's the greenie this time?"

"Not a greenie."

"Really? We get someone with experience? Who?"

"McGee. Tim McGee. Been out here for a year already."

"Why do _we_ get him? What did he do wrong?"

Gibbs smiled a little. They complained about the revolving door to each other often enough. Tony couldn't help wondering if they were being punished for something.

"Nothing. Just transferred to us."

"Yeah, whatever. I get it. You don't want to have me judging him before he gets here, but we both know that _something_ must be wrong with him...otherwise, we wouldn't have got him in the first place."

"Yeah."

"When do we get cleared for duty again?"

"You complaining, DiNozzo?"

"No way. I'm happy hanging out here. We're not right on the DMZ, we've got the beach...sort of. Some good-looking nurses...some of those Vietnamese girls aren't bad, either. Not too many rockets lately. All in all, you can take as long as you want to heal. I'll be happy to hang out here."

"Ducky'll clear me in a day or two."

"Or you'll make sure he regrets it, right?"

Gibbs said nothing for or against what Tony suggested. It was a running gag with them that Tony was only here for the girls and Gibbs was only here to kill things. Sure, it wasn't very funny, but they took what they could get out here.

"I met one of the new nurses. I think they should reconsider not having women fighting. I think she could take down any Charlie with her bare hands."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Ran into her when she was unpacking some stuff. Someone tried to take it from her and she went ballistic on him...threatened to kill him and leave no trace."

Gibbs laughed.

"Seriously, Gibbs. She rivaled you in bloodthirstiness."

"What's her name?"

"Sciuto was on her tag. First name's Abby."

"And?"

"And I may have chatted her up a bit. She didn't mind that. She just doesn't want people fiddling with her equipment...and yes, she says it's all hers."

"Interesting."

Sometimes, Gibbs got the feeling that Tony talked so much to keep himself from thinking about where they were and what they did. It was hard not to hear about the things people were saying about the war back home. It was hard not to think about how out-of-place they were in this conflict.

...and it was hard not to hear the rumors about the Americal Division and what some were saying they'd done at My Lai. It seemed like everyone had heard but no one was talking about it. As if not talking about it could make it go away. No one knew just how many they'd killed, but it hadn't been the Viet Cong. It hadn't been the North Vietnamese Army. Civilians. That's who they had killed.

_And we're supposed to be the good guys here,_ Gibbs thought grimly to himself.

"...and so I think I'll keep talking to her. She's different. That's for sure...and different is good sometimes."

"Yeah."

"Good afternoon, Jethro! I see you're recovering nicely."

As always, the British accent of the doctor who had taken it upon himself to make sure that Gibbs healed well...it just felt so strange. As he had explained to Gibbs and Tony at their first meeting, he was an American citizen, but he had grown up in Scotland. Still, the accent was too proper for where they were and what they were doing.

"Am I ready to go out again, Duck?"

"Let me see. The infection was finally healing itself, but you never know in this climate. The humidity and the rain..."

He _tsk_ed a few times and then took a look at Gibbs' leg. Long slashes with stitches, finally healing over. It had taken a long time for it. Too much time to sit around, thinking.

"Give it another day or two, I think. It would be safer before you go traipsing through the jungle again."

"We're getting a new guy," Tony said. "We'll have to hang out for a few days anyway."

"Ah, good. Filling the ranks, again, are you?"

"For now."

"Of course. I hope this one fits in with you...or that you both are sent home."

"Can't go home with the job not finished, Ducky," Gibbs said.

"You're assuming that it _can_ be."

"You saying you don't think we'll win?" Tony asked.

"I'm saying nothing. That is not my job here. My job is to save as many as can be saved...and send those home who can be."

They didn't say anything more. That was something they didn't talk about and for good reason.

"I'll give you a look over again in the next day or so. You'll be able to go out again."

"I know," Gibbs said.

Ducky left it there and headed back to his duties.

"Does it still hurt, Gibbs?" Tony asked.

"Nah."

By silent consent, they weren't discussing what had led to Gibbs' injury...and Pacci's death.

When the night came, even on the base, there was a certain amount of tension. It was much more obvious that they were foreigners. A different country. A different history. A different culture.

But Gibbs slept well, like he always did.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Gunny!"

Gibbs limped out at Major Morrow's call. Tony came as well.

He got his first glimpse of his new Marine.

Tim McGee stood motionless, at attention beside Major Morrow.

"Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, Corporal Timothy McGee, reporting as ordered, sir!" he said.

"Welcome, McGee."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Morrow who just smiled.

"At ease, Corporal."

Tim relaxed slightly, but that was all. He was extremely formal.

"Yes, sir."

"I'll leave you to it. Good luck, Corporal," Morrow said.

"Thank you, sir."

Morrow silently wished Gibbs luck as well and then walked away. Gibbs looked at the man he'd been given and resisted the desire to roll his eyes. He heard Tony clear his throat, suppressing a chuckle. They hadn't seen someone so formal in a long time. Even the greenies were generally more relaxed than this Marine who had apparently been here for a year. How had he survived like this?

Like it or not, though, they had him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim looked at the two men who constituted his new unit. They had the look of people who had been here for a while, knew what they were doing and didn't care about ceremony. Tim still felt as unsure about what he was doing as he had on the first day...but he knew all the regs. He had them memorized. He had passed his training, and he had acquitted himself as well as he could throughout his service thus far.

"Stop standing like you're in a parade, McGee," Gibbs said with some irritation. "Charlie won't care if you can stand up straight."

Tim knew he should relax, but he really didn't know how to. He dropped his shoulders a little bit and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that an order? Gunnery Sergeant?" he asked.

"Does it have to be?"

"Depends on how important my posture is to the gunnery sergeant," Tim said.

Gibbs smiled.

"You can drop your stuff in the barracks, there. Then, we'll see what you can do."

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant."

"My name is Gibbs. That's Tony DiNozzo. Pick whatever name you want to call him. You can't get rid of him no matter what you do. No sirs, no titles. Just names. We don't have time for more."

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant."

Tim strode into the small wooden barracks and carefully stowed his bag under the empty cot. Then, he straightened and took a deep breath.

_My decision. I have to follow through,_ he thought to himself and then turned and walked back out into the tropical heat. He hated the weather here. He hated the rain. He hated the humidity. He hated the heat that oppressed them this time of year. ...but he accepted it as one more thing he couldn't change. At least, they were out of the rainy season in this part of Vietnam.

"Ready, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes."

Tony walked by him and gave him a hearty thump on the back.

"Relax, McGee. Otherwise, Gibbs is likely to kill you. That's what he does out here, you know."

"And what do _you_ do?" Tim asked.

"Kiss the girls and make them cry," Tony said with a grin.

"Move it!" Gibbs said.

Tony just laughed and followed after Gibbs. Tim followed along to the firing range.

"How good are you, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Tim said. "They wouldn't have put me on your team if I couldn't shoot."

"Show me."

Gibbs tossed Tim a sniper rifle.

"I thought _you_ were the sniper," Tim said.

"Show me what you can do," Gibbs said.

Tim nodded. He looked through the scope and found the target. He aimed and fired. Not quite center. He'd have to work on that. He was out of practice. He fired three more times at the different targets.

Gibbs and Tony said nothing. They just marked where he'd hit through binoculars. Tim looked at the rifle and saw the tallies on the side of it. He didn't count them. He just held it out to Gibbs.

"This is yours?" he asked.

Gibbs nodded and took it back.

"Why were you on reconnaissance? Why not on a sniper team? You're good enough."

"I didn't want to be," Tim said honestly.

"Oh, is that the way the brass are working these days?" Tony asked. "They _ask_ us what we want? That's a new one on me."

"No," Tim said. "I missed on purpose during training. They didn't think I could do it."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. It was said so matter-of-factly.

"No point in pretending here. I'm already in your squad. Better do my best."

"So you don't like killing people, McGee?" Tony asked.

Tim shrugged.

"Have you ever read 'The Most Dangerous Game'?"

"I've seen a movie."

"Same basic story, I'd guess," Tim said. "Anything else...Gibbs?"

"Until I get cleared for duty, just make sure you're ready to go."

"I'm ready."

"Good."

They walked back to the barracks. Gibbs went off to get their next orders, convinced as he was that they'd be sent out soon. Tim lay down on his cot and stared up at the ceiling.

"So...you a book guy, McGee?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. I was. Not really now. Can't carry books around through the jungle...and with all the rain...they'd get ruined anyway."

He heard Tony sit down on a cot beside him.

"So...that book...movie...whatever."

"You start hunting people down and you start liking it because it's a challenge. You start to forget what's right and wrong. War is a necessary evil. Some people...they start to love it. They don't want the war to end. They like the power they have and the tacit agreement that it's okay to kill. Just look at My Lai."

"No one really knows what happened there," Tony said.

Tim laughed. "Not details, but everyone knows." He looked at Tony. "It doesn't go away just because you don't talk about it."

"Were _you_ there?"

"I'm not one of the Americals. I'm a Marine, not a soldier." He sat up. "They _massacred _that village. I've heard people talking about it...some wishing they'd been there, too. War brings out the worst in people. It's not something to be proud of...and when it comes out..."

"Who says it will?"

"With the whole world watching what's going on here? My dad has told me about what they're saying about us back home. We're the bad guys, Tony. We're the ones invading a country we have no business being in. They'll look for anything they can find that will support what they think already. The sad thing is...it won't be hard to find."

"Your dad is telling you all this?"

"Yeah."

"Why? I'd think that was the last thing he'd want you to know. Granted..._my_ dad doesn't send me anything except copies of _Playboy_...which I appreciate, don't get me wrong. Why would he tell you all that?"

"That's just the way my dad is. My younger sister doesn't do that, though." Tim felt himself start to smile in spite of himself.

"Hey! You _can_ do something besides scowl!"

Tim laughed a little.

"Yeah, I can." He reached into his bag and pulled out Sarah's most recent letter. The nice thing was that all she did was tell him about school. No diatribes. No worries. Just school. "Sarah just got asked out to the prom and she's really excited about it. She said that Mom wasn't sure about letting her. She's only just sixteen, but she convinced Mom and Dad to let her go. It's next week. She said she'd send me a picture."

"It's weird how normal life can be for everyone back home," Tony said.

"Yeah." Tim put the letter away. "How long have you been here at Chu Lai?"

"Since we lost Khe Sanh."

"Were you there?"

"No. We were...around. In the area. Lost Pacci. Gibbs got hurt making sure we got his body back. He's been healing up since then. They were going to send him home, but he refused to go. Said that he wasn't going to waste time when he'd just be coming back here again anyway. They say he's been here since the end of '65. He's going on his third straight tour. Don't know why."

"What about you?" Tim asked, wanting to know more about these people he'd be stuck with.

"I took the six-month extension. I'll be done in a couple of months. Then, I get a full month off. I'm going to Hawaii. The people speak English. The food is good. The sun doesn't feel like it's out to kill you when it comes up in the morning. All in all, perfect."

"And then?"

"Then...I'll be back."

"Really? Doesn't sound like you want to."

"I don't...but I can't leave Gibbs here to train up a whole new crew again. That wouldn't be very nice of me. What about you?"

"I finished my first tour a couple of months ago. I'm on my second and I'm taking the six-month extension this time."

"So we're a group of wingnuts, then. Perfect."

"Sure."

There was an awkward silence and then Tony grinned.

"Hey, come and meet the new nurse! She's crazy."

"Crazy in a good way?" Tim asked.

"Absolutely."

Tim shrugged. "All right."

They headed over to the hospital. As they walked, Tony shouted out to a bunch of different people all over the base. It seemed that he was a fairly popular guy. At least, he kept up a light-hearted attitude, whether it was genuine or not. In a place like this, Tim could see how that would make one liked.

"Hey, DiNozzo! I heard you were getting new meat!"

Tony laughed and looked over.

"Hey, Burley! Not new meat! Old meat!"

The Marine who had shouted jogged across to them. He put out his hand.

"Stan Burley," he said.

"Tim McGee," Tim said.

And then, he saw it. That moment when it was clear who had heard about him and who hadn't. Thankfully, it appeared that Tony and Gibbs hadn't. Stan obviously had. Which part he'd heard wasn't for sure, but he'd heard _something_.

Stan also showed a surprising amount of tact and he just smiled.

"Well, you can't get much better than being on Gibbs' team," he said. "He trained me up right and I'm still alive."

"Aren't you heading home soon?"

"Yep. Two weeks to go. I'm knocking on wood that I have good luck until then."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you," Tony said.

"I heard you're coming back after your leave."

"Yep. I'm a nut."

"Yeah, you are. Eighteen months in this place is enough for me. ...but I'm going to help with the training at Parris Island."

Tony smiled. "You just can't stay away, can you."

"Nope. I'm a hopeless case, but it'll keep me out of trouble."

"Good luck," Tim said.

"Thanks."

Stan headed back to his barracks and Tony dragged Tim to the hospital.

"Let's see. She was just getting here when I saw her yesterday."

Tony looked around for a few moments and then apparently spotted her.

"Aha! Come on, McGee! There she is!"

Tony grabbed Tim by the arm and dragged him over to where the elusive Abby was standing.

"Abby!" Tony said happily.

Abby turned around. She was dressed in fatigues, but Tim caught a hint of a tattoo on her neck and there seemed to be at least one on her hand as well. This wasn't what he'd been expecting when he had been told he'd be meeting a nurse.

"What brings you here? You don't seem to be sick, DiNozzo," she said.

"I am. I'm sick for _you_, Abby."

"Sick _for_ or sick _of_?"

"Definitely sick _for_," Tony said.

"Well, I'm sorry. You'll just have to suffer. There's no cure for what's wrong with you."

Tony laughed and Abby grinned back.

"Who's this with you?"

"This is Corporal Timothy McGee. Just joined us this morning."

Abby put out her hand.

"Abby Sciuto. Lieutenant Abby Sciuto, but Abby works. Nice to meet you, Corporal McGee."

"Just Tim," Tim said, thinking that it would be nice if he had a first name with _someone_ over here.

"All right, Just Tim," Abby said with a grin. "How long have you been around here?"

"Just got to this base yesterday."

"Hey, me, too! Great! It's crazy hot here. Is this normal?"

"Yeah," Tim said. "It'll get worse when it starts raining and it's _still_ hot."

"Don't drive her away, McGee," Tony said. "We need to keep the good ones here."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Tony," Abby said. "I'm here because I wanted to be here. I'm trained as a nurse, and this is pretty much the most amazing adventure, _ever_."

"It's a war," Tim said.

"I know, and how much better could it be to have an adventure and be helping people at the same time?"

Tim shrugged. That was a foreign view to him.

"So...we'll be heading out in the next day or two," Tony said. "Can I have a date when we get back?"

"Where will you take me, Tony?" Abby asked. "To the mess or..."

"...to the mat?" Tony suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

"I think I'd take you down in a second," she said. "You Marines aren't so tough."

"We just have to be quiet and fast," Tony said. "Tough doesn't matter if you don't get caught."

"I'll keep that in mind. When you get back, look me up," Abby said with a wink. Then, she looked at Tim. "You can look me up, too, if you want, Tim. Just call before Tony does."

"Hey!" Tony protested.

"Oh, I'm not too picky, Tony. Don't worry."

"All right, I'd better get McGee away before I get dumped."

"Can you be dumped if you haven't been picked up yet?" Tim asked with a bit of a smile.

"No ganging up on me! That's it. We're done!"

Abby just laughed and got back to work.

Tony took Tim back to the barracks and they wiled away the rest of the day listening to AFVN. Tim watched Tony sing along with Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride". They spent some time writing letters, and got updates on what was happening elsewhere in Vietnam. By the time the sun set, they'd done nothing much, but they had got a bit more comfortable with each other.

Tim looked at the other beds in the barracks.

"Why only the three of us right now?" he asked.

"Oh, our numbers tend to fluctuate depending on what they want us to do. We haven't had more than four or five since May. They needed them more other places," Tony said.

Tim nodded and lay down. It was quiet.

And hot.

Eventually, they all slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up with a start in the middle of the night. It was quiet, not that silence made it feel peaceful. Not here. He looked over toward Gibbs and Tony. They were both asleep, he figured.

Quietly, he got up and walked out of the barracks where a slight breeze helped it feel a little less hot. Tim figured it was still at least 80 degrees. He looked around. There was always some activity on base. Chu Lai wasn't much different from any other place he'd been. He knew why he was here, though. This was a base he'd never been to and no one (or at least only a few people) would have heard of him.

Chu Lai hadn't fallen in the Tet Offensive or the May Offensive. It wasn't as big as the Da Nang Air Base, but it didn't matter. It _was_ further south which was nice. Chu Lai felt a little more secure than some of the other bases did, even with the occasional rocket attacks. Most of them missed. Tim had been at Ngok Tavak just before the battle at Kham Duc, but he'd been transferred to another unit. Again.

_How long before they send me back?_

He couldn't help wondering, and he couldn't go back home...not because he didn't want to, but because of the deal he'd made with his father. Major Vance had been planning on sending him home after the last time, but Tim had begged him not to. In fact, Major Vance was the only one who knew why he was so determined to stay.

At the same time, he was afraid that what everyone thought about him was true and that by staying he was only condemning more Americans to death.

"McGee?"

Tim turned and saw Gibbs.

"It's too hot in there. Makes it hard to sleep," Tim said to forestall any other question.

"You aren't used to it yet?"

"No. Tony said you've been here for years. Why?"

"You don't leave a job half-finished," Gibbs said.

Tim smiled a little.

"You sound like my dad."

He walked back into the barracks and lay down. He half-expected Gibbs to ask him something more, but there was only silence.

After a few minutes, Gibbs returned to his own cot. Tim stared at the ceiling wishing that he hadn't associated Gibbs with his father.

The last thing he wanted to be reminded of every day was the risk of going home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Two days later..._

"Sir?" Gibbs asked.

"Gunny," Morrow said. "What brings you here? I thought you'd be getting ready to head out."

"I need to know more about Corporal McGee."

"What more? You've already tested him and you know what his skills are. He's more than qualified to be part of your squad. If you were incapacitated for any reason, he could take on the sniper duties."

"Why doesn't anyone else want him? He is skilled. He's overly formal, but he obeys orders. He has some attitude. He's more intense than he needs to be, but that's no reason for _no one_ to want him. This isn't about his being a loose cannon. He's not and probably never would be."

Morrow sighed.

"You're too perceptive for your own good, Gunny."

"Keeps me alive."

"People think he's a jinx."

"Why?"

"Because he is amazingly lucky."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Every battle he's been in, he's come out of it unscathed but everyone directly around him has either died or been seriously injured. He got transferred out of Ngok Tavak just before Kham Duc came under attack. That was the most recent. That's where it's at now. Wherever he _goes_ is in danger of being attacked. With his recon team all dying at once...and him once again being the only one to survive... During Operation Buffalo he was there for the ambush and the Marines he was with all were killed. He's always done his part. He's skilled as you've seen, but he has the bad luck of being unscathed in every altercation."

"Sounds like good luck to me."

"Some have looked at that as evidence of his being a jinx. The injuries he _should_ have had are happening to everyone around him. He hasn't been with almost anyone on this base. No one will have that preconception. I don't want him to start believing it, too. It could turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"He knows what people think?"

"Of course he does. He's not stupid, Gunny. Actually, according to his records, he's the _opposite_ of stupid. He left graduate school at MIT to enlist."

"Why?"

"Don't know. I'm not friends with him, Gunny. I only know what I can see. You want to know that, you'll have to ask him. Can you treat him like any other Marine?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Good. Get going, then...and come back alive."

Gibbs saluted with a smile.

"Will do, sir."

He walked back to the barracks. Tony was showing Tim some card tricks with a worn deck of poker cards. No one would play poker with Tony anymore; so he was confined with showing off his prowess in other ways.

"We're moving out in two minutes," Gibbs said.

Tony nodded and packed away his cards. They went with him everywhere. The same deck. He said they were his lucky deck.

Tim was instantly tense. He'd started to relax a little bit with the two days he'd spent around Tony and his relaxed attitude. Tony had mastered the art of relaxing when it was possible and being focused when it was necessary. Not many got that down. Tim definitely hadn't. He was focused and tense all the time. Maybe he could learn that from Tony.

Neither of them had asked what their orders were. They would get the details when they were out.

They left base, taking transport westward, and out on their next mission. Gibbs' squad was used in many different ways, according to what the brass needed. He had been sent on missions that were strictly for the purpose of tracking down and killing people. Some of his missions were strictly recon. He and Tony had been used in some of the battles as well as a regular scout-sniper team.

This one was mostly recon, but Gibbs had been given some side missions that could be pursued if the opportunity arose.

They were dropped off in the middle of nowhere in the western part of Kon Tum Province in the Central Highlands. After being left where they were, they headed out on foot.

All through that first day, they moved quietly through the trees. Gibbs kept his eye on Tim. He knew what Tony's endurance was, but Tim was still a bit of an unknown quantity. He looked miserable but determined.

When the sun finally set and darkness came, they set up a camp of sorts. No fire. No light. No tents. Just an area that was relatively secure.

"So, Gibbs...what are we doing?" Tony asked in a low voice.

"SOG needs help on recon in Laos and Cambodia."

"Why?" Tim asked.

"Covert bombing mission they're hoping to start in the next year."

"A bombing mission in Cambodia and Laos?" Tim asked.

"They're going after the sanctuaries," Tony said.

"Exactly."

"Do they have permission?" Tim asked.

"I didn't ask, McGee. We get orders and we carry them out. You have a problem with that?"

"No."

"SOG is doing a lot of the recon, but this is going to be a long-term op. They want as much information as possible and we're going to help them get it. They're also worried that there might be some enemy presence in SOG. We're in the clear as far as that goes. We don't engage unless it's absolutely necessary. Understood?"

Tim and Tony both nodded. They all fell silent after that. Gibbs put Tim on first watch and Tony on the last watch. He'd take the middle.

Then, with Tim alert for any sound, Gibbs and Tony both slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A single touch on the shoulder was enough to bring Gibbs to full alertness. He sat up and saw Tim's dark form pull back.

"Your watch, Gibbs," he said, his voice just barely audible.

"You hear anything?"

"Just jungle noise."

"Good."

It hadn't cooled down much at all, and through the trees, Gibbs could see clouds. Rain was more common than sun in the highlands at this time of year. They'd have to get used to being wet.

Tim didn't seem disposed to lie down and sleep.

"What is it, McGee?"

"There's something about me I think you should know, Gibbs...before we get in too far."

"What?"

There was a pause.

"People think I'm a jinx. Maybe I am...I don't know."

"Why?" Gibbs asked. It would be interesting to get Tim's perspective on this whole thing.

"Wherever I go...people keep...getting killed."

"It's a war, McGee. People are always going to get killed."

"No...it's like there's some kind of...I don't know. I've been in some skirmishes...some nasty places, Gibbs...but nothing ever happens to me. It's always to the guy next to me, the guy behind me, the guy in front of me. Never me. I've been transferred a lot because no one wants the jinx in their unit. Once, I got put in a unit and was only there two days before I was transferred again."

"I don't believe in jinxes, McGee."

"I didn't, either...but..."

"No buts. You are not a jinx. You're just lucky...and frankly, we could use a guy who's lucky."

"But my luck seems to hit everyone else badly."

"Don't think like that, McGee. I don't need a martyr. I need a good Marine, and you are that."

Tim was silent. In the dark, his voice had lost a lot of its confidence. He sounded much more like a regular guy in a frightening situation.

"Is this because your recon team died in front of you?"

There was another pause, but this one was strange. Tim had sucked in a breath...as if he was going to say something, but then...nothing.

"Why are you still here, McGee?"

"Like you said, Gibbs. You don't leave before the job is done." The confidence was back...confidence that Gibbs was now convinced was entirely an act.

"You saying that you'll stay until it's over?"

"That's my plan."

"Why?"

"You don't leave a job half-done."

There was some quiet shifting as Tim lay down. He didn't say anything else. Whether he slept or not, Gibbs didn't know, but silence fell.

By the time Tony's watch came around, the rain had started.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They'd be moving out before sunup, Tony knew, but it was always hard to tell sunup during the rains. He'd been in some heavy rains before, but Vietnam rain seemed to be like the Vietnam sun. It was out to kill you. ...like the North Vietnamese and the VietCong.

As he waited for the right time to get the other two up, he looked at Tim. Even in sleep, he looked tense. Tony couldn't figure out how he'd managed to survive for a full tour being that tense. Most people would self-destruct.

Maybe he had. There was something about Tim that Stan had known. Tony wasn't sure what it was, but Stan's expression had changed just for a second when he'd heard Tim's name. Stan was the personification of tact, though, so he wouldn't say anything unless he thought it was really important. Tony wondered if Gibbs knew whatever the rumors were. No one else seemed to know anything about Tim at Chu Lai. Maybe that was why he'd been sent there.

But if that were the case, Gibbs would have warned him. Real threats weren't hidden on this team. Their lives depended on knowing the risks. So it must be something else. He just wasn't sure what it was.

...and that bugged him. He liked knowing.

Tim suddenly opened his eyes and sat up. The displeased expression came over his face when he took in the fact that it was raining.

"Good morning, McGee," Tony said with smile. "Welcome to Vietnam."

"I don't need a welcome, Tony," Tim said. "I've gone through all this before."

"You gotta learn how to roll with the punches, McGee. You can't change the weather by hating it. So you just need to relax and accept it."

Tim grimaced and didn't respond.

Gibbs shifted smoothly from sleeping to waking...as always. Tony had given up trying to figure out how he did it.

"Just rain, Gibbs," Tony said. "No intruders."

Gibbs nodded.

They all pulled out their rations and ate. It couldn't be called breakfast, really. It was too nasty for that, but it sufficed to give them what they needed for a long day of walking. They had some of the MCI cans, but Gibbs had realized that the way the Vietnamese did it was better. Rice in a scarf. No sound. Much less weight. They had some of the Tropical Bars as well, but the bulk of what they carried was rice.

Then, they headed out. Even though it was raining, none of them were wearing regular shirts. They were only wearing their vests. They did have shirts, but it was so hot that even the rain didn't help cool them down. They did keep their helmets on, though. If it was necessary, they'd remove them, but right now, better safe than sorry.

It was a long day of walking. Since they were trying to keep under the radar, they didn't talk much at all. For Gibbs, that wasn't hard to do, Tony knew. He spoke when he felt it was necessary. For Tony, however, he _liked_ to talk. He wouldn't if it was a bad idea, but he chafed against having to stay silent. It was hard to relieve the tension if he had to keep his mouth shut. Tim didn't seem bothered by keeping his mouth shut, but then, he seemed pretty unhappy overall. Tony was interested in why it was that Tim looked so miserable. Sure, no one really wanted to be here, but most of them found ways to deal with it. Tim clearly hadn't.

It had been a _very_ long day, and Tony knew they'd be stopping soon, but Gibbs' hand in the air halted them in a second. Tim was on high alert, almost quivering with tension as he waited to see what it was that Gibbs had seen or heard. The rain hadn't abated one bit, but Gibbs hadn't survived all those years because of his pretty smile.

Gibbs gestured to the right. Tim instantly moved to obey the silent order. Tony was right behind him. They all crouched down in the undergrowth, hidden as well as they could be. They were in the region of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and it was to be expected to run across the enemy on occasion. They waited in silence for a few minutes.

Then, they all heard it, movement through the jungle. They passed very close to the hidden Marines. About twenty of the enemy. Viet Cong or NVA, couldn't tell by looking at their feet. Not that it would matter. Either one would be disastrous. They were outnumbered by a significant margin. Tony hoped that Tim wouldn't lose it. Tense as he was, some guys couldn't stand a long wait like this.

But Tim did. Tim didn't move the entire time the enemy was passing by.

Gibbs had them wait for a full hour before getting them moving again. Instead of the path they'd been on, he led them into the thicker jungle and they headed off at a tangent to the trail. If they were going to stop overnight, they needed to find a relatively secure place.

It was still raining when Gibbs called a halt. Tim leaned against a tree and slid down to the ground, finding a relatively dry place to rest.

"How much further before we start searching?" he asked.

"We'll head south tomorrow. SOG is working further north," Gibbs said. "Right along the border between Laos and Cambodia."

"They've got to be close to the trail," Tony said, knowing he sounded bitter. "They need the convenience. How else are they going to swoop down, massacre their own people, break truces and get back?"

There was no response to that. No need to, really. They just ate their ration for the evening.

"You okay with the first watch again, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim nodded.

"All right. Stay dry," Gibbs said with a bit of a smile and bedded down under the poncho that did little to keep off the rain.

Tony grinned.

"Look on the bright side, McGee," Tony said.

"What bright side?" Tim asked.

"At least we won't get dehydrated."

"No...we'll drown."

"Great, McGee. Every party needs a pooper," Tony said.

"I've been practicing," Tim said, but this time, there was a bit of a smile.

"I don't think you need any practice."

"Quiet," Gibbs said.

Tony covered himself with his poncho and hoped the rain would end sometime.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony and Gibbs were asleep, and Tim looked around. It was harder to see and hear the approach of others in the rain, but he was determined not to let anything get past him. Every few minutes, he'd rise up and turn in a slow circle, watching every inch for movement that didn't fit.

No one would catch him unawares.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

After another uneventful night, they were all up and ready to get moving.

In the neverending rain, of course.

Gibbs led them south for about five miles and then, he stopped.

"We split up here. DiNozzo, west. McGee, east. I'll go south. We meet back here at 2100 hours tomorrow. Don't get lost."

"No way, Gibbs," Tony said.

"Make sure, if you find anything, that you mark it. We need to take the info back, not do anything about it ourselves."

"Right."

"McGee?"

Tim nodded.

"And if any one of us doesn't get back?" he asked.

"We wait for a day at most and then move on. If any of you become the last one, you head for the rendezvous. Don't be a hero."

Gibbs didn't wait for a reply. He turned and headed south. Tim watched as Tony went west. Then, he started walking east. In a way, he preferred this type of work. Solitary. Alone. No one to blame him if something went wrong. He would be the only one who suffered if the worst happened.

...but at the same time, there was an oppressive silence when he was all on his own, a feeling of being abandoned.

Sternly, he squared his shoulders. This wasn't the first time he'd been alone on recon out here. He had more than a year under his belt and he'd get a lot more.

After a mile or two, Tim started to move more carefully. Instead of just covering distance, he started to look for signs of groups passing through. For more than three hours, he got nothing. The irrational part of him wondered if this was the military's solution to having a jinx in the ranks: Take him out into the jungle and abandon him.

Quickly, he dismissed that idea. For one thing, he'd only told Gibbs about what people thought about him a day ago. For another...why would they bother with something so complicated when they could just send him home or kill him?

After another hour, he finally saw a track. Now, he had to decide if it was going or coming. Well, he had time to do both. He decided to assume the track was leaving a sanctuary. He stayed as quiet as he could, following the path those tracks marked out.

"It is another mile north, but I would be careful if I were you."

The voice startled him and Tim whirled around, gun at the ready.

"Who's there?" he asked.

The voice had been female and not loud at all. He kept his own voice soft.

"Identify yourself!"

There was a stirring in the trees. Tim trained his gun on them, keeping all his senses open to an attack from somewhere else. He didn't think he'd ever get used to this. His heart was in his throat.

Then, he lowered his gun in surprise.

"You."

"Yes, me."

It was a woman. She was significantly shorter than he was with a mass of carefully restrained dark hair. She smiled.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"The same thing you are doing, I assume. You are searching for sanctuaries that are being used with or without the agreement of the governments of these countries."

"Who are you?" he demanded. He hadn't had the time to do that before.

"My name is Ziva."

"That's not a Vietnamese name."

"I am not Vietnamese."

"I know that much. I knew that before."

She smiled, although there was a definite shadow at the reminder of the last time their paths had crossed.

"For some, that does not matter."

"What are you doing out here?"

"I told you."

Suddenly, they both heard the faint snap amid the rain. The discussion was tabled and they both hid themselves in the foliage. Tim burrowed into a thick bush while Ziva dug down into the undergrowth. Covering herself in the smaller plants and dead plant matter from the jungle floor. When hiding, cleanliness wasn't important.

A large group came into view. From where Tim was hidden, he could see them clearly.

Viet Cong. He recognized their uniforms. He hated them. If his orders hadn't required something else, he'd have loved to pull the pin and throw one of his grenades at the group, hoping to kill as many as possible. He had never thought it possible to hate an entire group of people so indiscriminately, but he had seen what they had done to the Degar village of Dak Son in December. He had seen the burned bodies of the villagers, killed because the Viet Cong had decided they must have helped some refugees. He had seen the burned remains of the village. That kind of treatment of a civilian population... It was why what the Americals had done at My Lai made him so ill. The Viet Cong had shown over and over again a complete disregard for the value of human life. They were _told_ to kill as many people as they could. When American soldiers did the same thing...

He took a long, silent breath to calm himself down. He couldn't let himself get worked up. Now was not the time to attack. Now was the time to be silent and still, to let them pass by.

Perhaps forty of the VC walked by. Taking his cue from Gibbs and from his own experiences on recon in the past, Tim stayed still without moving even after they had passed from view. Ziva apparently had the same training. She didn't move at all for half an hour.

Then, almost as if they'd come to the same conclusion at exactly the same time, they both left their hiding place. By unspoken agreement, they walked together toward the sanctuary Ziva had said was a mile away. The closer they got, the more cautious they became. They didn't speak, and Ziva seemed uninclined to leave him and go about whatever her job was. Whoever she was...

She stopped him and gestured silently toward a clearing. Then, she took him by the hand and led him away from the location she said was the sanctuary and toward a hill. They went up to the top and it gave him an unexpected view of the sanctuary. It wasn't huge, but it was large enough to house a significant number of Viet Cong. Tim quietly pulled out his map and opened it up. He had been keeping track of where he'd been going, but he gestured to it and pointed out where he thought they were. Ziva glanced at it and then took his pen and placed the mark just to the left where he had. Tim nodded. He annotated it with the size and sophistication of the camp. He looked again, fixing as many of the details in his mind as he could and then he nodded to Ziva. She led him back down the hill, but then, off at a tangent to where they had been before. It was in the general direction back toward where Gibbs had given their marching orders. He resisted.

"I'm not done yet," he said softly.

"Only to where we can speak," she said quietly.

Tim acquiesced. They walked together until Ziva judged it safe to stop and talk.

"Who are you working for?"

"That I cannot tell you, but it is not North Vietnam."

"I figured that much," Tim said. "You wouldn't have shown me that camp if you had been. You'd have killed me."

She nodded.

"Why help _me_, though? If you're doing the same thing, you can report..."

"I am not doing the same thing, officially. I am not someone who should be known to be here."

"Okay...so why are you helping me?"

"I owe you a debt."

"No, you don't," Tim said, shaking his head quickly. "You don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do. You saved my life, and I must repay."

"No. I don't want you to. I don't need or want a bodyguard. I don't expect payment."

She smiled sympathetically at him. "You do not like to think about it, do you."

Tim didn't answer.

"I do not like to think about what almost happened to me, either. You stopped that from becoming reality. Even if they had not killed me, I would have wished I was dead. Do you understand? I suppose it would hard for you to understand that feeling, but I am grateful and I will show my gratitude by paying a debt. I do not care if you do not _want_ it. I am not asking for your opinion. I am telling you that my debt will not be paid until I save _your_ life as you saved mine."

Tim sighed.

"Fine, you helped me find a sanctuary."

"No. This is not my repayment. This is my helping you do what needs to be done."

"I can't take credit for something I didn't do."

"Credit?" she asked. "This is a war. It is not a game. Does it matter who does something so long as it is done? You had found the same trail I had found. You would have found the sanctuary. I simply saved you time. Does that make you feel any better?"

Tim sighed again.

"Please, Ziva. Just go about whatever you have to do. I just did what was right. That's all."

"You may not ever know, but I _will_ repay my debt. You may never see me again...but I think we will mix trails again."

That phrase didn't sound right, but he decided it wasn't worth fixing it.

"Can you tell me who sent you here? I won't tell."

"I cannot, but I will tell you that there are countries who are willing to send me here to do what I can to help. No one will ever know that I was here. If I am killed here, no one will know."

To Tim's surprise, she suddenly reached out and cupped her hand over his cheek. It was such an unexpected gesture that Tim covered her hand with his own. He hadn't had such a...a _human_ moment since he'd been here in Vietnam.

Ziva smiled, pulled her hand away and then, vanished into the jungle.

Tim stared after her. He didn't like to think about how he had met her the first time. Maybe he could just replace the first meeting with this one. He was okay with that. He touched his cheek where she had touched him. He couldn't even explain why that had been so meaningful to him. He took a breath and then went back to his search. He still had another full day before he would be heading back to Gibbs and Tony.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva ran through the jungle, paying no attention to the rain. She couldn't stay near Tim as she wanted to until she had repaid him. She had too many other things to do, and staying in one place was a dangerous thing here. As she had discovered in her six months here, being a woman alone put her in danger from all sides.

For now, there was work to do.

She hoped that the rain stopped. She was much more used to desert climates, having lived in a desert for the last fifteen years. She hadn't been born in a desert, but she had moved to a desert with her family and already seen her share of war and destruction. She was beginning to think that her whole life would be defined by war and hatred. Any moment of happiness was to be savored and treasured.

If she focused on the horrors, she couldn't survive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Tony was heading back to meet up with Gibbs and Tim. He'd found one large sanctuary that looked like a small base and one that seemed very temporary. He'd marked down what he'd found and now, he was ready to join up with his team and not be operating alone. He much preferred being in a group. It was better all around.

He had nearly run into a unit of the NVA and decided to come at the meeting place from a different direction. By his estimation, he was about a mile away. Almost home free. Well, as home free as anyone ever got around here.

...and then, he took a step and heard a click.

Oh, no.

He was lucky he wasn't running. He'd have been dead already. As it was, he now was stuck where he was.

A landmine.

He took a deep breath and tried to keep himself from panicking. He might have to risk using his flares if he couldn't come up with any brainstorm about how to get himself off this. There were ways of disarming a landmine, but it depended on who had planted it. Was it an American mine? Was it a Vietnamese mine? Or was it one belonging to the Khemer Rouge? There were too many options. ...although since it hadn't already gone off, blowing him up or his toe off or whatever, he could eliminate a few options. There was also a chance that it was a dud...but the only way to test that was to move...and if it wasn't...well, there was no going back and trying something else.

So, Tony chose to stand where he was.

And try to think.

And hope that no one else came upon him in this rather awkward situation...at least, no one whose intention would be to kill him.

He stood there for three hours...and at least got the benefit of a break in the rain. No sun, but at least the rain stopped falling for the first time in three days.

It was getting close to 2100 and that was worrying, too. It was possible that he was close enough that Gibbs or Tim would find him but...

He heard a sound. Someone walking very quietly.

Tony stood where he was, but he tensed up.

Before he could do more than that, the intruder came into the little clearing.

"McGee!" he said, feeling a rush of relief.

"Tony...what..." Then, Tim's expression changed and he seemed to realize right away what the problem was. Maybe it was Tony's stance or something.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Tony asked with a jaunty smile.

"I got...a little off in my bearings. I was backtracking. Landmine?"

Tony nodded.

"Okay. Okay... Okay...I'll...check it out."

He set down his pack and carefully approached, making sure there were no other landmines lying in wait. Then, he knelt down by Tony's leg. Before he could do anything more than that, though, there was another sound of approach.

"What do you think the odds are that it's Gibbs now?" Tony asked.

Tim's expression pretty much agreed with Tony's feeling on the likelihood of that being the case.

"Get out of here, McGee. No way are we letting them take two of us down at once. Not like this."

"They won't take down _one_ of us," Tim said. "I'll be back."

Before Tony could ask what he meant by that or what the strange expression on Tim's face meant, Tim had stood up and almost melted into the foliage, grabbing his gear as he left.

Tony was alone in the clearing now, hearing the approach. It sounded like only a single person. Who would it be this time? ...and Tony knew he could only stand here and wait. He had his gun, but if there were others, using it could bring more down on him and he'd still be in the same position. It would also warn the enemy that there was recon going on here. They might move the sanctuaries and wipe away any progress made thus far.

Tony hated the silence.

The trees moved slightly and revealed a member of the Viet Cong. He looked at Tony. Looked down at Tony's foot. He smiled and pulled out a gun.

Tony tensed, ready to jump, throw caution to the wind and hope for the best.

That was all he had time to do.

Tim suddenly appeared behind the man, knife in hand. He covered the man's mouth and slit his throat. He held his hand over the man's mouth until he stopped moving, until he was dead.

There had been almost no sound. Tim looked at Tony for a long moment. Then, he took a breath and dragged the dead man into the trees, hiding him from discovery, hopefully for some time.

It was all over in less than a minute.

Tim came back into the clearing, wiping his knife on his soaking wet pants. He took a breath and walked back to Tony. He knelt down without speaking and carefully started to expose the landmine, to get a look at its construction.

"Thanks, McGee."

Tim said nothing. It was so quiet, and Tony really wanted to start saying _something_, but he knew that was a bad idea. Too much potential for more intruders.

"Tony...if this is live..."

"No way of turning it off, huh?"

Tim looked up at him and shook his head.

"But the fact that you're not dead yet..."

"Yeah, well...let's not depend on that, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"You step away and I'll step off."

"No."

"Oh, come on. Don't get all hero on me. There's no sense in both of us dying if it's live."

"It's not about being a hero," Tim said. "I won't leave. I'm staying right here."

"McGee!"

"Are you going to get off that? Are you going to take the chance?"

"Yes...but not while you're standing there! If it's live, I'm not going to risk both of us being killed."

"You don't get it, Tony. I'm not leaving."

Suddenly, Tim grabbed Tony's arm and pulled him off the mine and away from it as fast as he could. Tony wasn't sure that his arm hadn't been pulled out of its socket, but they were both lying on the ground.

...and there was no boom.

Tony took what felt like his first real breath in hours.

"Are you out of your _mind_?" he asked in a furious whisper. "Are you crazy? What were you thinking?"

Tim sat up, looking as frightened as Tony felt, but with some degree of satisfaction.

"I told you that I wouldn't leave. I meant it. Now...let's...get going. We need to meet up."

Tim got to his feet, but Tony could see Tim's hands shaking, even if his voice wasn't showing it.

Tony wanted to rip Tim a new one, but they did need to get back to Gibbs. They had to move down to the next area before heading to the rendezvous. So he put off the discussion until they could talk more safely. Tim grabbed his gear and they headed off together.

Tim said nothing, but he had the shakes. He had them bad.

Tony decided to talk to Gibbs that night when it was his turn to go on watch.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was waiting, pretending that he wasn't just a little bit worried about the fact that neither Tony _nor_ Tim were back yet.

He would wait like he had told them to do. ...and if they weren't back in a day...

He didn't have to complete the thought because Tim and Tony came into view together. Both looked more than a little shaken, but Tim looked worse than Tony did.

He raised an eyebrow.

"We met up over a landmine, Gibbs," Tony said in a low voice.

Gibbs kept the eyebrow raised.

"I stepped on it. It was a dud."

"Okay. You ready to go for a couple more miles?"

Both of them nodded, but Tim very emphatically said absolutely nothing. Gibbs could also see that Tony was bursting to talk about something. ...probably the same thing that Tim didn't _want_ to talk about.

They walked down with no rain falling on their heads and then Gibbs called a halt.

As soon as they settled down and ate, the heavens opened again and it was raining. The reprieve was over.

"You okay for first watch, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim nodded. He hadn't said a word since joining up. Gibbs decided not to push it, and Tim seemed keyed up enough that he probably wouldn't sleep even if Gibbs tried to make him. So he didn't press it and Tony didn't, either. Instead, he slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A touch on his shoulder woke him up in the dark and rain. Gibbs sat up. Tim said nothing. He started to lie down.

"McGee?"

Tim stopped.

"What's wrong?"

An audible swallow.

"Are you going to be sick?"

"No. ...not yet."

"You mean you will be later? When?"

"When it's safe to be."

Tim sounded sincere.

"Gibbs...please, don't ask me about it right now. I can't talk about it right now."

"Okay. Sleep, then, McGee."

"I'll try."

Gibbs looked toward Tim as he draped the poncho over his head and then focused on keeping watch. It was quiet...except for the rain. He sat for the hours of his watch and then he leaned over and woke up Tony.

"What happened out there?" he asked.

"You tell me, first, Gibbs. Is there something about McGee that I should know...that you didn't tell me?"

"Tell me what happened and then I'll tell you if there's something you need to know."

"Okay. I was headed back. I had to go around an NVA unit and I decided it would be better to take a different route. I was coming back and I stepped on a landmine. It didn't go off."

"Obviously."

"I was there for three hours."

Gibbs understood. Stepping on a landmine was one of the most common ways to die out here. That Tony hadn't died when he stepped on it was good luck. Once you realized that you'd survived, you really wanted to keep it that way.

"Then, McGee showed up. He said that he'd got a little off and was backtracking. He checked to see if he could do anything about it, but we heard someone else. It was Charlie. I told McGee to get out of there and he said that he wasn't letting either one of us die. He got behind the guy and...and he cut his throat. Then, he hid the body and came back. He said that there was no way to diffuse it, and he couldn't tell if it was just a dud or not. I told him to get out of there and I'd try getting off."

The only option left, of course. It wasn't like they could get a bomb squad out there...but it was hard to do it. It was hard to know that you could be killing yourself.

"McGee wouldn't go. He said that he wasn't leaving me there. I told him not to be a hero, and he said he wasn't. He said that he would not leave. When I told him that I wasn't going to take the risk of killing him, too, he grabbed me and pulled me off the mine. Man, when we left there I wanted to kill him myself, but he was shaking like a leaf. He hasn't said a word since then. So...you tell me...what's up with him?"

Gibbs had been afraid of that when Tim had told him about people thinking he was a jinx. He had been afraid that Tim would buy into it. He had. He had probably decided that if he left Tony there, Tony would die and if he stayed, Tony would be safe.

"The reason why McGee was put on our team is because other places, people have decided that he's a jinx. He doesn't get hurt but the people around him do. I think he believes it."

"So...why would he stay by me?"

"Because I guess he believed that if he's in danger of dying, then, if he's there, you won't get hurt."

"That's...That's _stupid_."

"Yeah."

"He saved my life, Gibbs...but I don't want that to be because he doesn't care about himself."

"We can't deal with it now. We have five more days until the rendezvous and we have more work to do."

"I know that."

"Then, we'll deal with it."

"All right."

Gibbs lay down and let Tony start his watch. Before he fell asleep, he decided that he was going to recommend that Tim be sent home. He'd already served honorably, but this could be dangerous. Tim didn't want to be here, but he had said he planned on staying until it was over. He could sympathize with Tim wanting to see things through to the end, but this couldn't work.

He went to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lay under the poncho and struggled not to panic. He hadn't been able to hear everything Gibbs and Tony had said, but when people started talking about "dealing" with him, it usually meant being moved again, but Major Vance had already indicated that there would be resistance to moving him yet again. They'd send him home...and he couldn't go home. He would have to discard what little pride he had left and beg Gibbs to let him stay. He had almost fallen to his knees to beg Major Vance, but he had been forced to explain why he wanted to stay in order to be granted permission. He didn't want to tell his miserable story again...as if he was deserving of pity or something.

"McGee? Are you awake?"

Tim heard Tony's soft voice. If he had been asleep, he wouldn't have heard anything at all...but he didn't want to talk to Tony. He didn't want to talk to any of them right now.

He stayed still and, for the first time, was grateful for the rain that made it necessary to keep the poncho over his head. Tony didn't speak again, and eventually, Tim did fall asleep.

The rain didn't stop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It took them another day to get to their next area. Gibbs split them up as he had before and they headed off into the jungle to search for the hidden sanctuaries. Gibbs hoped that things would go better than they had the last time. No landmines. No Tim-related problems. No run-ins with Viet Cong or the NVA. Just some recon and then head for the rendezvous. In the rain.

Tim said very little, although he spoke when spoken to, and when he had to make reports. Tony was clearly on edge both from the landmine and from Tim's reaction to it. Unfortunately, the kinds of conversations that could diffuse the situation were not going to happen right now.

Well, he didn't take the time to dwell on things he couldn't change. Instead, he sent Tony and Tim out and hoped for the best.

He found a small unit of VCs and tracked them until he found a large sanctuary. All he'd found before were small temporary encampments. This one was worth reporting. He decided to stay and watch it to see how much use it was getting.

...and it was a lot. Over the course of eight hours, Gibbs saw a turnover of probably at least 200 men. By his estimates, they were right on the border between Cambodia and Vietnam here. It was good launching point.

A good place to take out by any means necessary.

After staying overnight and watching them, he decided that he had enough information. He headed back to where he would be meeting up with Tony and Tim. He would rather be early than late when it came to regrouping.

So he got back to the place where they'd split up. It was a day's walk away from their rendezvous. That was fine, though. They could walk through the night if necessary. He didn't think it was necessary, but they could.

He heard some noise...rather more noise than he was used to and he hid himself where he could see.

Tim stumbled out of the trees, looking exhausted. He clearly hadn't seen Gibbs and looked around, breathing heavily. Apparently, he thought he was alone. He sat down by a tree, took off his helmet and ran his hands over his head. He looked a lot younger in that moment than he did when he was in company. He leaned back against the tree trunk and let his eyes close. Gibbs was curious to see how aware he still was. Had Tim let his guard down or was he still listening for danger? He moved a branch just enough that it made noise.

Tim's eyes flew open, and he was on his feet almost in an instant. He had his gun out and was slowly searching for the source of the possible danger.

Not wanting to leave Tim in that state of high alert, Gibbs came into view. Tim took a breath and relaxed.

"You're early, McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim nodded.

"I spent the last eighteen hours stuck in a tree," he said. "As soon as they cleared out, I knew there wasn't time to go anywhere else. I just headed back."

"What happened?"

"NVA unit was moving through," Tim said, sounding weary. "I didn't have any good place to hide except up in a tree that was covered with vines and moss and stuff. I thought they'd just move on, but no...they decided to camp out there...beneath my tree."

"No sleep for you, then?"

"I didn't dare. If they heard me..."

Gibbs nodded. Tim hadn't had a good time, then.

"Did you find anything?"

Tim shook his head.

"One area that probably is used off and on, but nothing permanent. ...and then, I was in a tree."

"Okay. Will you be ready to move on two more miles tonight?"

Tim nodded and sat down again, closing his eyes. Gibbs allowed him to relax a little. It was nice to see Tim being _able_ to relax at all. He was too tired to be tense. He didn't seem to fall asleep, but he kept his eyes closed and he was breathing deeply.

Tony arrived about an hour later. As soon as he approached, Tim was alert and on edge. He got to his feet, but Gibbs had decided that Tim wouldn't take a watch tonight unless Tony had as bad an experience. Going all night without sleep was always possible, but if it wasn't necessary, why bother?

"Didn't find any big ones, Gibbs," Tony said, "but I marked a couple of small ones."

"Good. Let's go."

Tony nodded. He looked over at Tim.

"What's up?"

"He was stuck in a tree for eighteen hours."

"Oh, yuck. Sorry about that, McGee."

Tim just smiled a little. "I'll survive."

"Good."

Gibbs gave the word and they headed out. The hike to their next resting place was uneventful. Thank goodness. When he called the halt, Tim was obviously tired, but he was doing all right. They ate their evening rations. It would be nice to get back to base and have slightly better meals than this.

"McGee, you're off the watch tonight."

Tim shook his head. "No, Gibbs. I don't need that. I can..."

"It's not a question. It's an order. You've been up for a full day. DiNozzo and I can take the night. We'll be back on base in another day. Save the all-nighters for when it's necessary."

Tim couldn't argue, and he didn't really want to, Gibbs could see. He _wanted_ the sleep that he'd been denied the night before. He covered his head with the poncho to give him some minuscule protection from the rain that was _still_ falling. That meant that Gibbs couldn't see his face, but he was pretty sure that Tim was asleep as soon as he lay down.

"You want the first or the second watch?" he asked Tony.

"I'll take the second," Tony said. "It'll work better for me."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"All right."

Tony leaned back and went to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony looked over to where Tim was lying unmoving.

"McGee, are you awake?"

No response. Tony sighed. He wanted to talk. It was so much easier that way. Still, maybe it was better to be silent since they were still in enemy territory. He was ready to get back to base. He felt more tense than he liked when they were out in the middle of the jungle and had to be quiet for days on end.

Suddenly, Tim's arms started flailing. Quickly, Tony moved over to stop him from making so much noise. Gibbs woke up as well and helped. He pulled the poncho off Tim's head and covered his mouth...just in case. Tim woke up with a jolt and only gradually realized that he was being held still and that his mouth was covered.

"Bad dream?" Tony asked, smiling.

Gibbs moved his hand away.

"I thought I was falling out of the tree," Tim said softly. "Did I make a lot of noise?"

"You might have if we had let you," Tony said. "But we stopped it before it started."

"Sorry. I haven't had a nightmare like that in a long time. I didn't mean to."

He sat up and looked more than a little embarrassed.

"Well, might as well get moving since we're all awake," Gibbs said.

Tim took one more deep breath and nodded.

They ate their morning rations and then headed out. It was another long walk, but they had known it was coming. They had to get out of the jungle and get to their rendezvous. The moved as quickly as they could, skirting around a few small villages, avoiding contact with anyone who could either be a danger to them or could be in danger from their presence. It was best not to run the risk either way with this mission where the information needed to get back to Chu Lai.

They stopped to rest after the first eight hours. The rain had tapered off about an hour ago and they were finally drying out. They had just crossed a rutted path and were concealed in the trees. The road led, indirectly, to their rendezvous and they wanted to keep close enough to it that they didn't lose their bearings.

The were footsteps in the trees, not muffled at all, and they all aimed their weapons toward the sound.

The branches parted and there was a Vietnamese woman and two young children with her. She stopped, terrified, when she saw them.

While they knew that it was possible she was in disguise, they all relaxed and lowered their weapons.

"Chao," Tim said gently. "Chúng tôi se không làm ton thuong ban."

They all knew a few words in Vietnamese, but Tony didn't know what Tim had said.

The woman still looked afraid.

"Ði. Không sao dâu."

She backed slowly out of the clearing and then they heard the footsteps running away.

"What did you say to her?" Tony asked.

"That we wouldn't hurt her and that she should leave. I think. I don't know if I could have said anything else useful."

"Why did you learn that much?"

"I figured it couldn't hurt to speak to them in their own language occasionally. ...and after the kinds of things that happen here...it's probably good for them to see that not everyone is out to kill them."

"Hey, we aren't–" Tony began.

Tim interrupted.

"I didn't _say_ we were, but it doesn't matter what the truth is. We have to fight against what people _think_."

"Let's go," Gibbs said, cutting into the debate. "We still have to get to the rendezvous site."

Tony grumbled. He didn't like some of the things Tim said. It bugged him that Tim could point out the mistakes made so casually as if all the things being done by the enemy weren't a million times worse. Still, Tony decided not to make an issue of it. They still had to get back, and there was no point in getting in a fight out here. Tim just shrugged and got up.

They got moving again.

Tony started mentally counting down the miles. He didn't know exactly how many more there were, but he had a good idea. In his head, he even started thinking of the running cadences from boot camp. He kept his attention on his surroundings, but the old cadences brought him back into a better frame of mind.

They kept going until they reached the rendezvous. No further incidents. Thank goodness. They were there early and so they hid out in the trees until they saw their transport. Then, they ran and jumped in the helicopter.

"Hey, wasn't sure you guys would make it!" the pilot shouted at them as they got on.

"Why not?" Tony asked.

"Oh...I heard some things."

He glanced at Tim who said nothing but stared out the window instead. Tony was suddenly struck with how difficult it must be to know that was how people felt...and how easy it would be to fall into the trap of believing it.

"Oh, we've got McGee with us!" he shouted as they took off. "He's our good luck charm! Almost as good as my deck of cards!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Saved my life!"

Tony leaned back and looked at Tim who had a surprised expression on his face. Tony just gave him a thumbs up and then relaxed a little. It took about an hour to get back to Chu Lai. When they landed, Tony felt a surge of relief. It was so nice to be back in a place of relative security. Of course, the Tet Offensive had demonstrated that no place in Vietnam was _really_ secure, but still...

They headed to their barracks, waving at the various people as they walked. It would be great to take a shower...and then, be able to dry off and _be_ dry. They dropped their gear by their cots.

"Nice to be back, Gibbs," he said with a smile. "Almost feels like home, eh, McGee?"

Tim suddenly looked almost green. He didn't say a word. He just turned and ran out of the barracks. Tony looked at Gibbs.

"Go," he said.

Tony nodded and ran after Tim. He saw him going to the showers. He caught up just as Tim got in and threw up. Tony stayed back until Tim finished. He turned on the water just long enough to wash everything down the drain. Then, he straightened and looked at Tony.

"You all right?" Tony asked.

Tim smiled weakly. "I am now. Couldn't do that when I really wanted to."

"When was that?"

"When I cut another man's throat." Tim swallowed and let out a whoosh of air. He squared his shoulders, almost as if he was ready to face it all again.

"Does it bother you that much?"

"Obviously," Tim said.

"Why are you staying here, McGee? If you hate it that much..."

"Because it's what I have to do. I'm okay, now, Tony."

Tony gestured and they started back to the barracks.

"That was a stupid thing you did."

"We lived through it."

"Gibbs told me about what people are saying."

"Did he?" Tim's voice was neutral.

"You can't believe something like that, McGee. It's not true."

"Worked this time," Tim said softly.

"No. That landmine would have been a dud whether you had stayed there or not. When I said that you saved my life, it wasn't because you stood there. It was because you saved me from Charlie. He would have killed me if you hadn't been there. It had nothing to do with you being stupid and staying while I stepped off the landmine."

Tim didn't reply. He strode ahead of Tony and into the barracks. Gibbs had stowed all his gear. He raised an eyebrow at Tim.

"I'm fine, Gibbs."

"Good. Tony..."

Tony got it in a second.

"I think I'll go and see if Abby really will go on a date...somewhere...secluded...away from here."

Tony left, wondering what Gibbs would be talking to Tim about. He could see that Tim wasn't ready to let go of what everyone else thought. He hoped that he could help him because that was _not_ the way to survive out here.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"You did good work out there, McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim sighed. He could hear the "but" coming.

"But you don't think I'll be a good fit for your team and you're going to recommend a transfer. Again."

"No. I think that you're fine on this team, but I don't think that you should be out here anymore. I'm going to recommend that you get sent home."

Tim felt his heart plummet right down to his feet. That was the worst possible outcome. He hadn't really thought it would happen.

"No. No! You can't do that, Gunnery Sergeant!" He fell back on formalities, hoping to get through the false camaraderie that so many people offered. Camaraderie didn't seem to matter when it came down to whether or not he stayed where he was.

Gibbs was calm.

"You're a good Marine, McGee. Your work was good and I can't fault your expertise, but..."

"Please, Gunnery Sergeant!" Tim interrupted, not caring about listening to his superior officer. "I've never put anyone in danger by anything I've done! You said I'm not a jinx. I do my job and more! I do whatever anyone asks of me. Please, you can't send me home!"

"You don't even want to be here, McGee."

"I don't want to leave more."

"Why?"

"Can't you just take it at that?" Tim asked. "Can't you just believe me when I say it's better to be here than back there?"

"No, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because while you can do a lot, your actions out there show someone who is going to get himself killed...or else one of _us_ killed. It has nothing to do with being a jinx. It has everything to do with believing it, and if you're only out here because you don't want to go back, that's not going to help, either. I have to be able to trust the people on my team. When we go out, there's no backup. There's just us. I can't have you doing stupid things because you believe what other idiots out here believe."

"I've never got anyone killed by what I did."

"Maybe not, but you came back here and threw up after dealing with a landmine."

"It wasn't the landmine," Tim muttered.

"Then, what was it?"

"It was how I had to kill that Viet Cong. Killing with a knife is...a lot more personal than shooting across a battlefield. I've had to do it before and I don't like it."

"The landmine didn't bother you?"

Tim hesitated and he knew that Gibbs caught it, but like he had felt with Ziva, he didn't have any desire to discuss that particular event. Nothing could change what had happened...and since Gibbs knew a lot less about it than Ziva did, he could move on without mentioning it.

"No."

"Why are you here?"

Gibbs was jumping around to different topics so fast, Tim was having a hard time keeping up, but he tried.

"I enlisted."

"Why?"

"Because I was raised to believe that when your country calls, you answer."

"Then, why don't you want to go back?"

"Because I need to stay here."

Gibbs was clearly frustrated.

"If you want to stay, McGee, you had better stop avoiding the question. You tell me the truth and don't lie."

"I haven't lied."

"You haven't told me everything, either."

"And you're going to force me to?"

"If you want to have even a _chance_ of staying."

Tim sighed.

"Fine. I can't go home because if I do, I won't _have_ a home anymore. I won't have a home and I won't have a family."

He sat down on his cot and stared at the floor.

"I know it sounds like the most pitiful excuse in the world, but it's true."

"Explain."

"My dad didn't want me here. He said I'd dishonor the McGee name by coming out to fight here."

"How would that be dishonor?"

"There have been McGees in the military almost since there's _been_ a military. Mostly Navy. I couldn't be in the Navy because I get seasick."

He heard a chuckle.

"Yeah, stupid, isn't it. Dad thought it was stupid, too. I ended up going to MIT. I loved it there. You wouldn't know it out here, but I'm a total geek, Gunnery Sergeant."

"Really."

"Yeah. I got bullied a bit in school. Too much of a wimp to fight back although I wanted to. I loved books. I started getting interested in computers when I got to college...and they had them. Who knows how much more these things are going to be able to do in the future? There's so much potential and the breakthroughs...wow." Tim realized what he was saying and to whom and he cleared his throat. "Anyway, MIT was considered a real comedown for my dad. For most people, it would be considered a good thing...not for Dad. We fought about it and then, he decided that, if I was going to be enough of a wimp to stay out of the military, I wouldn't be dishonoring our family if I went to a high-ranked school."

Tim hesitated and looked up.

"Is this too much detail, Gunnery Sergeant?"

"Don't call me _Gunnery Sergeant_, McGee. Go on."

Tim took another deep breath and stared at his hands again

"Okay. So...I was in grad school and Vietnam was coming up more and more in the news. Some of my friends were joining the reserves just to avoid the possibility of getting drafted and sent out here. I didn't like the idea of trying to avoid doing what my dad had done. He served in Korea. He was there through the whole thing. When the country calls, you answer. I had a lot of friends and some professors who didn't like what was happening, who said that we shouldn't get involved in a civil war. I heard a _lot_ from both sides."

"And?"

"And I decided that I didn't know what exactly was happening out here, but if someone was asking for our help...then, I should help. So I decided to enlist in the Marine Corps. I couldn't go Navy and I didn't want to be a soldier. Marines seemed like a good choice. Then, I told my parents. Dad was furious. He said that nothing good could come out of this and I'd only drag our name down with the rest of the country. We had a huge fight. Dad and I were shouting at each other in the living room. Mom was upstairs keeping Sarah from getting upset about it. Dad said that it figured that I'd choose to join the military only when it would ruin our family's reputation. I said that Dad just wanted to make every decision for me and if he didn't, then it was wrong because no one was allowed to have a different opinion." Tim shrugged. "Neither of us would back down, and we went round and round for probably an hour. It finally got to the point that Dad said if I wanted to do this, then, the only way to do it honorably was to see it through. If I came out here and then decided that I didn't like it and wanted to come home...I wouldn't be part of the family anymore. He would disown me and even make it a legal situation if he could. There would be no Timothy McGee in the family anymore."

Gibbs cleared his throat a little, but Tim kept going.

"Yes, I'm sure I understood him correctly. No, it wasn't just an exaggeration because he was mad. I know my dad. You don't. Dad doesn't make idle threats. If he says something, he means it. If you send me back now, it doesn't matter if the military thinks I served honorably. According to my dad, I won't have done and I won't have a family anymore."

"So...basically, you're saying that your dad would rather have you dead out here than going home after an honorable tour of duty."

Tim smiled a little.

"No, he doesn't want me dead. ...but some things are more important."

"Like what?"

Tim tried to think of what to say, but he couldn't. After all the time he'd been out here, the things he'd seen and done, thinking of what his dad's justification was for everything was hard enough that he just laughed helplessly.

"I have no idea anymore," he said. "It doesn't really matter why he feels so strongly about it. He does, and I don't want to lose my family."

"Do you believe in what you're doing out here?"

"Mostly, yes. We make mistakes and maybe we shouldn't be here, but we are...and everything that I've seen of the Viet Cong and the NVA...what will happen if we leave before the job is done? How many of the Vietnamese people will be killed because they didn't want to go along with Ho Chi Minh or anyone else? Already...I saw the massacre at Dak Son. The Degars...they don't want to be controlled and instead of letting them live as they will, they're massacred. Women, children... This isn't like the wars where you fight on a battlefield and then you're done. People are being killed who aren't even fighting! ...and it's happening on both sides which makes me sick, but they do it a lot more and they're encouraged to do it. I hope that...when what we've done comes out, as it will eventually, that the ones who are guilty are punished for it."

Then, Tim realized how much he was talking. He wasn't especially talkative, usually, and out here, they didn't encourage that. Besides that, with all the moving around he'd done, he hadn't had a real chance to exchange stories with the guys. They mostly tried to avoid him.

"Sorry. I didn't need to say all that."

"You're pretty talkative given the chance."

"Not really," Tim said, flushing a little. "I...I don't know why I was spouting off like that. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness."

"John Wayne," Tim said with a smile. "Dad likes Westerns."

"Yeah."

"Now what?" Tim asked. "Are you going to send me home?"

"Do you really think that staying here is the best idea?"

"It's the only idea. If I go back, I'll lose everything worth having anyway."

There was a long silence. He supposed that Gibbs now thought of him as the wimp his dad had always said he was. Marines were supposed to be tough guys who didn't worry about things like that. They didn't freak out at the prospect of killing someone who would kill them given the chance. They weren't supposed to be geeks. Definitely, they weren't supposed to be afraid of going home. All the time he'd been out here, he'd known that he didn't fit in...not with most of them. He was too serious. He didn't find the same things entertaining. He wished that they would play jazz. That was one of the things he really missed. He hadn't heard a single jazz song since he'd been here. All that in conjunction with what he'd just confessed...well, he didn't expect Gibbs to want him around...but if he could just transfer him instead of send him home. Tim chanced looking over.

Gibbs' expression was inscrutable.

"Stay here."

"Permanently?" Tim asked.

Gibbs smiled a little.

"We'll see."

"Would begging help? ...because I will if you want me to."

"No."

Then, he walked out. Tim grimaced. He wished he was the kind of person who could just leave the base and wage his own war out in the jungle like Ziva was apparently doing. ...but he couldn't.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky was going through the supplies they had on hand. They needed more antibiotics. They'd had some trouble with jungle rot, and it was better to be oversupplied (which never happened) rather than undersupplied (which happened a lot). There had been a few rocket attacks in the last week. None had hit directly, but there had been a few injuries from the Air Force side of the base. The Viet Cong didn't have great aim, but the rockets were always disconcerting. They said that you didn't have to worry about the rockets you heard. It was the one you didn't hear that would kill you.

So far, he'd heard them all.

"Ducky."

Ducky looked up from his supply list and smiled.

"Jethro. I'm glad to see that you made it back in one piece. I trust you were successful in whatever you were doing?"

"You have some training as a shrink, don't you?" Gibbs asked, bypassing small talk.

"Yes, I do. Besides the fact that you insist on staying here for so many years, I don't think you need my services in that regard."

"Not for me."

Ducky got that he was serious.

"For whom?"

"McGee."

"Explain, if you could."

"Have you heard what people think about him?"

"I'm afraid not," Ducky said, shaking his head.

"He's been moved around a lot while he's been here because people think he's a jinx. He's started to believe it."

"That's unfortunate."

"He risked his life to make sure that no one else got hurt around him, and he's here because if he leaves before the war is over, he'll be disowned by his family."

"Oh, dear. What family would require that kind of action?"

"Long story but his dad thinks that he'll bring dishonor to the family if he leaves."

"What do you want from me?"

"Can you straighten him out so that he doesn't get himself killed?"

Ducky laughed a little. "Jethro, I'm no miracle worker. I don't even know the man."

"I know, but I don't want to send him home if he really doesn't want to go. I just don't know if I'll be risking his life more if I leave him here than I would if I sent him back."

"So...you'd like me to speak to him?"

"Yeah."

Ducky looked at his lists and then called for his assistant.

"Mr. Palmer, please finish the assessment of our supplies. I will be back in an hour at most."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

Ducky got to his feet and followed Gibbs back to his barracks.

"McGee!"

Tim came out. He looked more than a little reluctant, and when he saw Ducky, he became a little confused and wary.

"What is it, Gunnery Sergeant? ...uh, Gibbs."

"This is Dr. Mallard."

"Okay. I don't throw up more than once. I'm fine now."

Ducky chuckled.

"Congratulations."

"You're British?"

"Scottish in origin, but I've been an American citizen for many years."

"Oh. So..." Tim's eyes moved from Ducky to Gibbs.

"You want to stay?"

"Yes," Tim said.

That was probably the most fervent assent Ducky had ever heard.

"Then, you're going to talk to Ducky and he's going to help you get your head on straight."

"So...I have to talk to him, now, too?"

"If you want to stay."

"This isn't a guarantee?"

"No," Gibbs said bluntly. "But it's a start. I've got to go report in."

He walked away, and Tim looked a little lost.

"Well, Corporal McGee."

"Tim."

"Very well, Tim. Why don't we sit down and talk?"

"Okay."

They walked into the barracks, and Ducky was interested in getting to know this Marine.

"Jethro has told me the bare bones of your problems. I would appreciate hearing it from your perspective."

Tim hemmed and hawed a little.

"I realize that this isn't the ideal way to spend your first moments back on base, but it appears that there is some urgency to making an analysis. Please rest assured that I won't speak of this to anyone but Jethro."

"I just want to stay here."

"Then, let's see what we can do about that."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Gibbs went to make his report and to hand off the information they'd gathered to SOG. He didn't know exactly what or when, but that didn't particularly matter to him. What mattered was finishing what he had to do. Then, they would have some time to relax and that was important with how tense it got out in the jungle.

"Gunny, come in."

Gibbs stepped in. Major Morrow was there along with a couple of people he didn't know.

"Gunny, this is Captain Fornell from SOG and Agent Kort, also operating under the auspices of SOG."

Gibbs nodded briefly at both men. Captain Fornell had a world-weary look about him. Kort looked shifty.

"We'd like to get your full report on what your team found," Agent Kort said. "We'll be passing it on up the line."

Gibbs looked at Major Morrow who gestured. Gibbs accepted that these were the people he had to report to. He pulled out the maps and the accounts Tim and Tony had given him and started to explain everything. That was the important thing. They needed to know it and he'd give it to them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky sat back on the cot and considered the young man sitting across from him. Tim hadn't been comfortable with sharing his history. He hadn't wanted to explain anything to Ducky, mostly because Ducky was a stranger to him. It took time for some people to trust.

"Thank you for speaking with me, Tim."

"It's what I have to do to stay here. Are you going to tell Gibbs that I should go?"

"No, I'm not. I'm going to let him make that decision. I will tell him what I think."

Tim looked at him.

"Which is?"

"That you are a person used to dealing with problems on your own but that you would do well on a team, and if you can stay with the same group for an extended period of time, that would go far to eliminating this fear you have of being a jinx to those around you."

Tim flushed and looked back at the floor.

"It's not that you are weak, Timothy."

"It's just that I'm stupid."

"Far from it. It's difficult to maintain a point of view in the face of many others saying something else. And when it's as serious as the lives of those around you depending on it...it's even more difficult to keep your head. I think stability...insofar as it can be found in this place...would do wonders for your perspective. And if I may say, I think you would be hardpressed to find a better group to serve with."

"There's only two of them."

"For now. They've had others transferred in and out, a couple have been killed, but Jethro and Anthony have served together very well. They tend to play off each other very well."

"Do you think he'll let me stay?"

"I would like nothing more than to send you home, back to where you can live your life in safety, but given your insistence, I will share with him that you would likely do well here. I definitely don't think that you should be transferred again."

Tim nodded.

"And, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like the chance to speak with you a few more times...when there is time to spare, of course."

"Sure, I guess. I'll do what I have to."

"It's not so much about _having_ to. It's about, in Jethro's words, getting your head on straight."

Tim smiled, but he hadn't really been willing to make eye contact.

"For now, I'll allow you to relax as much as you can in this situation. If ever you _want_ to talk with me, feel free to drop by. If I can, I'll make the time."

Ducky got to his feet and started to go.

"Dr. Mallard?"

He turned back. Tim was standing looking for all the world like a young boy suppressing a huge secret that he was bursting to tell.

"Yes? What is it?"

"...uh...nevermind. Thanks."

"Of course."

Ducky left and started across toward the hospital barracks. A rocket whistled over head and plunged into the sea. A dud.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, Jethro. I spoke with him as you asked."

"And?"

"And while I don't know if his father would be as heartless as Corporal McGee seems to think he would, he does not need the added stress of going home. I also don't believe it would be in his best interest to be transferred. I think being on one team for a period of time would be a good thing for him...as long as he's here."

"So you don't think he should go back?"

"I think he should, but I think he should stay here more...at least until he feels he has served honorably enough. By the way, he may be carrying some secret that he does not wish to share, but wishes to at the same time. Given the chance to develop the kind of trust you and Anthony have, he may even be willing to tell it. Right now, however, I think he'll be most reluctant."

"Bottom line?"

"If you don't feel strongly against it, I recommend that you keep him on your team...unless you think he'd be a danger."

Gibbs nodded.

"I almost hoped you'd say he needed to leave."

"For your sake or his?" Ducky asked.

"His."

"I told him that I'd like to continue speaking with him. He agreed to do so, not for his sake, although I hope that he'll see some value in it."

"You'll make him, I'm sure," Gibbs said drily.

"I'll do my best. I left him in the barracks. It might be better to get him out of there, but I didn't want to push more than was necessary."

Gibbs nodded and walked off toward the barracks Ducky had just left. He watched him go and knew that, if Tim could benefit from being here, Gibbs and Tony would be the sources of that benefit.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He looked toward Gibbs when he walked in.

"Tony's over in the mess. Go get something to eat."

"Not very hungry, Gibbs."

"Well, since your stomach is definitely empty right now, that doesn't matter. Go."

Tim sat up.

"Am I staying?" he asked.

"Yes. Now, go."

Tim felt the lead weight in his stomach vanish.

"Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant."

"Don't call me _Gunnery Sergeant_ or I'll change my mind."

Tim smiled and gave a formal salute. Gibbs just rolled his eyes. As he headed for the mess, he could almost smile.

When he got in, he saw that it was definitely chow time. There were a _lot_ of people in line. Squaring his shoulders, he walked over to the end of the line and waited. It took a while, and no one really talked to him, but that was all right. Better that than the snide comments.

"Hey, McGee! Come on over!" Tony shouted, waving to him.

Tim saw a couple of looks his way, but he nodded. Once he got through the line, he walked over to where Tony was sitting with Stan Burley and a couple of others he didn't know.

"Here he is!" Tony said. "It's thanks to him that I'm standing here today."

"You're sitting," Stan said with a grin.

"You know what I mean. I was stuck on a landmine. Charlie came through the woods and found me and McGee here saved my life."

"You diffused the mine?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. It was a dud."

"He took out the VC. I didn't even get a scratch!" Tony said. "So...I still have my lucky deck, but now I have a lucky brother, too."

Tim rolled his eyes. Tony was laying it on a little thick, even if Tim could appreciate what he was doing.

"Good for you, McGee," Stan said. "Annoying Tony may be, but he's entertaining."

"Yeah, in limited doses," said another man. "I'm Ron Sacks."

"Does that mean you'll play poker with me? I've got my deck with me right now."

"No!"

That was in unison from about five different Marines at the table. Tim laughed a little and started to relax.

"So I'm headed up to Da Nang tomorrow so that I can go home," Stan said.

"Good luck," Tony said sincerely. "You've almost made it."

"Yeah. Almost. I have to admit that I'm afraid I'll bite the dust right before I go or that a rocket'll hit the transport. I'll have made it through two years only to check out right when freedom is mine."

"Well, in that case..." Tony pulled out his deck of well-worn cards.

"I'm not playing poker with you, DiNozzo. I learned my lesson already."

Tony just laughed and flipped through his deck. Then, he pulled out a single card and handed it to Stan.

"There you go, Burley. The queen of hearts. She is guaranteed to get you back without mishap."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. I haven't had a moment's worry with my playing cards. So I'll hand one over to you. The queen of hearts is the best card anyway."

"But then, you won't have a full deck."

"That's all right. You can mail her back to me when you get home," Tony said. "And you'll replace her with the real thing anyway."

Stan laughed.

"Not likely in the near future."

"Oh, I doubt that. You're too much of a gentleman to stay unhitched for long," Ron said. "I can't figure out how you kept your 'good manners' schtick going through the last two years."

"Someone has to remind you all what your mothers would say if they heard how you talk."

"And we'll really miss that," Tony said.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for the card," Stan said and slipped it into his pocket. "I'll take good care of her."

"You'd better. I want her back in the same condition."

Stan saluted with a grin. "Yes, sir."

They gabbed for a while longer and then, the little impromptu party broke up. Stan was off to pack for his return. Ron was on duty, and the others were going out on recon. Since they'd just got back, Tony and Tim had some time off. They headed back to the barracks to get their packs cleaned out and everything ready for whatever might come next.

"So...McGee."

"What?" Tim asked.

"Training."

"What about it?"

"Anything exciting during boot camp for you?"

Tim smiled a little. "No. I was in the misfit platoon."

"Misfit?"

"Yeah, all the guys who... We were the ones no one thought would want to be Marines. Our DI was...intense. I don't think he thought we were good enough," Tim said. He laughed as he remembered that time. "A bunch of us were geeks, but we were also determined to do _everything_ right. We knew how to work together. We were used to being abused in some form or another. We earned his respect, eventually. Not before a couple of us started to question what we had chosen to do. But we were determined not to lose a single one of us and, by the end...he knew we were serious."

"So you all made it?"

"Yeah. Every one. We shipped out from Le Jeune and we had decided we were going to go through the war all together. We were going to single-handedly take down Ho Chi Minh. A bunch of stupid things, but we were going to do it together."

"And?"

Tim felt the sick feeling in his stomach.

"And we didn't. A few of us stayed together, but a bunch were sent to other areas where there were holes to fill. But some of us were together." He took a breath. "Two weeks after we got here. We went to Hill 881."

"You were there?"

Tim nodded.

"And...after it was over...it was just me."

"Oh, man, McGee. I..."

Tim barely heard him. "The others are dead or permanently injured. One of them...he was my buddy from boot camp. His name was Jim Nelson. He got me through when I was ready to give up. At the battle...there was fog, and constant mortars...and one hit right near where we were. They couldn't get the choppers in to evacuate and we couldn't leave them behind. Jim and I tried to get one of our buddies who'd died. And then there was another mortar. And I was fine...and Jim was on the ground. One of his legs was so mangled that... He wasn't going to make it until an evacuation." Tim could still see that moment. It was seared into his brain forever. "Another one of our buddies who'd survived that long was there and he said that...that the only way Jim had even a chance of making it was if we amputated his leg right there."

If Tony said anything, Tim didn't hear him. He was back there in the chaos and confusion of that hill.

"_We've got to, McGee!"_

"_He won't survive that!"_

"_He won't survive the way he is now, either! Are you just going to let him die?"_

"_Hang on, Jim!"_

"McGee? Tim?"

Tim came back to the present with a start. He looked at Tony and then back at his pack.

"Have you ever seen someone bleed through the pores in his skin?"

"No."

"I have. When we cut off Jim's leg. It hurt him so bad that he started sweating blood. We did our best. He still died. All I could do was make sure his body got out because I was the only one left after that. Another mortar and it was just me."

"Hey, I'm sorry, man."

"That was the beginning. I didn't have a unit anymore. They transferred me. And then, there was the Battle of July Two. Only a day, but it was bad, but I was fine. Then, I got transferred again. And again. And again. ...and now, I'm here." Tim took a breath and forced a smile. "We went out and none of us got killed. It's an improvement."

"Well, I'm happy about that."

"Yeah." Tim took another deep breath. "Sorry for dragging you down. Sometimes...I just can't set it all aside."

"It's okay, McGee. I can always liven up a party. That's my job."

Tony sat down on Tim's cot. Tim sat down beside him.

"Now you know why people think I'm a jinx."

"A string of bad assignments for you doesn't equal jinx."

"It does in most people's books."

"Well, it doesn't in mine because you saved my life out there. I'm very attached to my life, McGee. I'd rather not give it up."

Tim chuckled. "Yeah, me, too."

"Good. We're agreed. Since you're staying here, we'll all remember that."

"Does that bother you? Me staying here?"

"Nope. Not if you promise that the next time I get stuck on a landmine you let me step off it by myself."

"I'll work on that," Tim said.

"Okay, then, welcome to your home away from home, McGee...and I think you should take a shower because, quite frankly, you stink."

"We're in the middle of the jungle."

"No jungle here."

"We spent a week in the rain."

"It didn't help."

"It's over 90 degrees."

"That's no excuse."

"Yes, it is."

"Go shower the stink off you, McGee. It's smelly enough around here without you adding to it."

Tim let out a genuine laugh. "Okay, DiNozzo. I'll try not to offend your delicate nose."

"Exactly."

Tim gave in to what he could see was inevitable and headed for the showers. As he walked, he allowed himself to feel a little bit of hope that maybe his streak of bad/good luck could be broken here.

He just hoped that it wouldn't lead to more deaths.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Over the next week, Gibbs, Tony and Tim had some time off. That didn't mean relaxation necessarily because Gibbs believed very strongly in always being prepared. They went on runs every morning. They did drills, went over the geography of the area.

After two weeks, they went out again for another week-long recon mission. When they were on their way back, another team got ambushed and they rushed in to help, beating back a small NVA unit and getting the casualties back to Chu Lai.

After they returned from that, Tony and Gibbs got sent out on a sniper mission. Tim got left behind and when the communications center found out that they had someone who knew something about mechanics and electronics, they commandeered him to help fix some of the broken radios. Some of the Marines asked Tim to see if he could fix their tape players.

So Tim was busy even if he wasn't busy out there.

There was some scuttlebutt going around, and Tim couldn't ignore it, but he tried. It kept him from really relaxing into his new situation here.

Tony and Gibbs had been gone for about a week, and Tim had some down time. He still didn't fit easily into the base and, being naturally kind of a loner, he didn't feel comfortable insinuating himself into any of the groups, even though they were all Marines.

So he walked back toward the little barracks that he shared with Gibbs and Tony.

"You are McGee?"

Tim stopped and turned around. One of the Vietnamese dancers who sometimes came to entertain the troops was standing there. Tim never went to those things. They often got out of hand, and even if the dancers didn't seem to mind, he did.

"Yes."

"I have a message for you," she said, her English heavily-accented but understandable.

"What is it?"

She held out a folded piece of paper, very stained on the outside. Tim took it.

"Thank you."

She didn't move.

"Uh...is that everything?"

"No. I am to take an answer back."

"Oh."

He unfolded the paper and looked at it. The message was written in an uncertain hand, but it was legible.

_Body of VC found and camp has been moved. Retribution is planned on Degar village near Cambodia border. Coordinates are 14 23' N and 107 30' E. Raid is planned for two days later. Please reply if you will do anything._

_Ziva_

Tim looked at the woman and felt as though his stomach had dropped into his shoes with a sickening thud. Another Degar massacre? ...and because he had killed a member of the Viet Cong? But without Gibbs here, would anyone listen to him? He looked at the dancer.

"Does she want it written?"

"Yes."

"Can you come to my barracks? You don't have to go inside. I just need some paper."

The dancer nodded, looking unconcerned. Some of the pilots said that you could bet on a rocket attack if the dancers didn't show up on a given day. They knew quite a bit about what was going on. She was no naive girl being used for bait. She followed him to his barracks...and came inside with him. Tim felt as though everyone was looking at him right now and he felt himself start to blush at the conclusions he knew would be drawn. No one would think less of him for it, but still...

He grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled a quick answer.

_I will do the best I can. Gibbs isn't here but perhaps Major Morrow will listen to me. Thank you for the information._

_T. M._

He folded the paper and handed it to the dancer. She smiled a little bit at him.

"She is your girlfriend?"

Tim laughed.

"No."

"Do you _want_ a girlfriend?"

"Uh...no. Thank you."

"Too bad. She told us that you are the best of any man here on base. You have not even touched me."

"I wasn't raised that way."

She bowed slightly.

"This is your message?"

"Yes. Cam on. That's right, isn't it?"

"To say 'thank you'?"

"Yeah."

She nodded. She tucked the paper away out of sight and then left the barracks. Tim took a breath and screwed up his courage to tell Major Morrow and ask to have someone intervene.

He jogged across the base, Ziva's message clutched tightly in his hand. There were a few suggestive calls after him, but he ignored them. He was intent on seeing how his request would be received.

He requested speaking with Major Morrow and had to wait for a few minutes and then finally, he was admitted. He saluted smartly.

"Corporal McGee, you said it was important," Major Morrow said.

"Yes, sir."

"Sit and explain."

Tim perched uneasily on the chair.

"Sir, you received Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs' report of what happened on our recon."

"Yes, of course."

"That I killed a VC when Corporal DiNozzo had stepped on a landmine."

"Yes."

"I received information today that the VC have found the man I killed and are conveniently blaming it on a nearby Degar village. Sir, I saw what they did at Dak Son. I don't want that to happen again."

"Where did you get this information?"

"From a woman I've had some contact with before. She is operating under the radar and I can't tell you more about her."

"Vietnamese?"

"No."

Major Morrow looked at him speculatively.

"She said that they're going to move in the next couple of days, sir."

"What are you requesting, Corporal McGee?"

"That we stop the VC from another massacre."

"And because you feel responsible."

"Yes, sir. I do. I know that it's only a convenience for them, but I don't want them to have that convenience. Enough innocent people are already killed in this war. I don't want to give them the chance to add to the number. Sir."

"You know where this village is?"

"I have the coordinates."

"How sure are you that this isn't a ruse to get us out there and ambush us?"

Tim swallowed.

"I can't be completely, sir. I don't know this woman well...but I trust her."

"How did you meet her?"

Tim pushed away the first time he'd met Ziva...and he lied.

"On recon. She helped me find one of the sanctuaries."

Major Morrow raised an eyebrow.

"Would you want to go along?"

"Yes, sir, but if you think it would be a bad idea, I won't try to insist. I just want that village to be safe. She said they'd be moving in the next two days."

"You have the message with you right now?"

Tim nodded and passed it over. Major Morrow looked at the message.

"Ziva?"

Tim nodded.

"That's a Hebrew name."

"Oh." Tim didn't know what to say about that. He didn't know enough about Hebrew...but then, he thought about it a little bit more and the idea that Israel would send someone to Vietnam was ridiculous. They had enough worries being surrounded by enemies. "She said she couldn't tell me who she was working for."

"Do you know where she is?"

"No. I don't."

"Very well. You're dismissed."

Tim stood up.

"Sir...may I ask if you're going to do anything about this?"

"You may. I don't know yet. I'm going to discuss it."

"There's not much time, sir."

"Corporal McGee, I am well aware of the circumstances. You've given your message. You're dismissed."

Tim nodded, aware that he'd crossed the line. He straightened to attention and saluted.

"Yes, sir."

Then, he turned and left the room. He wished, not for the first time, that he had the personality that would allow him to run off into the forest, but that would be deserting and _that_ would _definitely_ bring dishonor on his family name. He would have to trust Major Morrow.

No matter how hard that was.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was fidgeting for the next few hours. He wished that Tony and Gibbs were there. They had his back. He didn't feel like anyone else here really did. Too many were starting to hear the rumors about him.

"Corporal McGee!"

Tim jumped to his feet and ran out of the barracks.

"You have five minutes to muster and report for duty!"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant Langer!" Tim said with a salute.

He hurried back into the barracks, gathered up his gear and was reporting for duty in under two minutes. There were some sidelong glances at him. Tim knew why, but he didn't say anything. He just paid attention as they were given their orders. Tim was put under Staff Sergeant Langer. He didn't look happy about it and neither did his platoon. Tim said nothing.

Major Morrow came out.

"We have received information that a Degar village is under threat from the Viet Cong. We are going to give them whatever assistance in necessary. You will take up protective positions and remain for a week, finding whatever evidence there may be of an attack. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

They headed out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The silence of the forest was broken by a single bullet. The target jerked backwards, and blood sprayed on the face of the man standing behind him.

Tony was watching through the binoculars.

"You got him."

Gibbs nodded. They had been tracking this man for days. He was one of the better NVA snipers, and tracking down a fellow sniper always had an added element of risk. It was a relief to have it done. Gibbs knew that he was no Carlos Hathcock, no matter how many he took out. However, he had got the job done and now it was time to get out.

"Let's go."

Tony nodded. They moved quietly away from the sniper nest before they could be found. The NVA soldiers would be up in this area soon. Better not to worry about it any more than was necessary.

They ran silently through the trees, leaving the NVA unit far behind. When they could, they stopped and relaxed a little. Gibbs made another tally mark on his rifle.

"That was good shooting, Gibbs," Tony said.

Gibbs nodded.

"It was a nice one this time around. Hathcock couldn't have been better."

"He could have. He would have done it alone," Gibbs said. "Would have been quieter."

"But then, you wouldn't have me as entertainment!"

Gibbs chuckled. They rested for a few minutes and then continued on their way, choosing to go through the night, putting as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible. The enemy would probably regroup fairly quickly. They didn't seem to worry as much about individual lives as the U.S. military did. ...although sometimes, Gibbs couldn't help wondering. That was part of the nature of being a higher-up. You couldn't take as much time worrying about the little guys. It was one of the reasons Gibbs never wanted to get promoted. He could worry about individuals at his level.

It always interested Gibbs how quickly Tony could shift from being totally focused to goofing off and making jokes. Right now, his jaunty grin was at odds with the camo face paint they'd both donned to hide them from view.

It was near dawn when they decided to take a break, catch a couple of hours of sleep before moving on. When they woke up, both were feeling good enough that they set off again, toward the rendezvous. They got a little behind schedule when they almost ran into the NVA unit who had been tracking them, but they got away finally and hurried toward the meeting place.

When they neared the clearing, they could hear the rotors of the helicopter.

"Perfect timing!" Tony said. "I thought we were late!"

"We were," Gibbs said.

"Oh. I wonder why _they_ are."

They jumped on the helicopter. The pilot didn't seem in as good a mood as before.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Staff Sergeant Langer's platoon went to a Degar village. Some tip that the VC were going to hit it. They were there."

"And?"

"Three Marines were killed...and so was Staff Sergeant Langer."

That was a blow. Langer had been well-liked as a platoon leader. He was fair, drove his men hard, and never tried to stay in the background. He was always at the forefront of any operation.

"Your other guy brought him in."

For some reason, that didn't sound like a compliment. Tony tensed, but Gibbs stopped him. They needed the whole story and now was not the time to get it. Except for the rotors, the ride back was mostly silent.

When they reached Chu Lai, Tony and Gibbs got off and immediately went to report on their successful mission.

Major Morrow accepted their report, congratulated them and then focused on Gibbs.

"Gunny, I need to talk with you. You're dismissed Corporal DiNozzo."

Tony knew when it was time to make jokes...and this was _not_ that time. He just saluted and left the room.

"What happened, Major?"

"You never waste time, Gunny. Have a seat."

Gibbs sat down.

"We heard about Staff Sergeant Langer."

"Yes, he was killed. So were three others. Your Corporal McGee received a message from a woman he says he has crossed paths with before. Do you know anything about that?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"He said that he trusted her to be giving a genuine warning. The VC had found the man Corporal McGee killed and had decided to blame it on a nearby Degar village. She had requested assistance in protecting the people there."

"And you went."

"Of course. I consulted with some of the other battalion leaders and we decided that the Degars have given us a lot of assistance. It's only right that we return the favor when we can. So I sent Staff Sergeant Langer's platoon out with Corporal McGee along."

"Why?"

"He wanted to be there and, if his source was there, she would know that he could be trusted. If this was a valid tip, it's worth cultivating someone willing to share information. He went along."

"And?"

"And the tip panned out. They got there just in time. ...and Corporal McGee's luck held out."

Gibbs sighed.

"They threw a couple of the improvised grenades. The shrapnel took out the men right beside Corporal McGee. Three were killed. Four are going home, probably not coming back. Corporal McGee was in the exact right spot. The men beside him protected him from the shrapnel. He was untouched. When Staff Sergeant Langer was killed, he risked crawling out and retrieving his body. They drove the VC back, killed most of them. ...and now, the jinx rumor is making the rounds. All it takes is one person knowing about it, Gunny."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Your choice. You want to keep him?"

Gibbs thought about it. He didn't want to keep Tim here. He wanted to send him back where his problems wouldn't put him in danger of being killed. At the same time, Tim's desperation to stay had actually got to him.

"It's your choice, Gunny. If you want to send him home, it'll be an honorable discharge. I've already had one of the other platoon leaders tell me that he didn't want Tim transferred to him. ...not because _he_ believes the rumors, of course, but because his men did. This is a dangerous place and if there's a convenient person to blame, it's what will happen."

"Understood. I'll keep him."

"All right. He hasn't left the barracks except when the mess hall is almost empty. No one is seeking him out for any reason. There have been no tormentors."

"Understood." Gibbs saluted and left.

Tony was waiting for him right outside.

"What's up, Gibbs?" he asked.

Gibbs didn't answer. He just jerked his head. They went to the barracks. There was some movement inside it. When they walked in, Tim was on the floor, doing pushups. He had clearly been doing it for a while. He was flushed and his arms were shaking as he came up again.

"McGee!" Gibbs said sharply.

Tim jumped to his feet and turned around to face him, sweating profusely, shaking a little, but he saluted.

"Welcome back, Gunnery Sergeant."

"What have I told you about calling me that, McGee?"

Gibbs found it interesting that Tim's reaction to stress seemed to be falling back on formality.

"I heard about your excitement while we were gone."

"What excitement?" Tony asked.

"Later."

Tim just nodded.

"You lucked out again."

Tim nodded again.

"And scuttlebutt is making the rounds."

Another nod.

"How do you feel about that?" Gibbs asked.

Tim took a breath and then proved that, regardless of his background or anything else, he _had_ learned the same colorful language that was in common use around here. He turned away and let out a string of swear words. Then, he walked over to the wall of the barracks and put his fist through the wood. Just once. Then, he took another breath and turned back. His expression showed nothing.

"That good, huh?"

"Why does it keep happening like this, Gibbs? Why?"

"You're surviving. Do you want to die?"

"No."

"Then, stop complaining about it."

"But it happened again. We're all there, but nothing happens to me! Why?"

"You ever stop to think that you're a good Marine, McGee?"

"_They're_ not bad Marines!" Tim protested.

"You're a good Marine. That doesn't mean everyone else is bad."

"And do you _ever_ stay back?" Tony asked.

He didn't know what was going on exactly, but he wasn't stupid and he could see that it was back to Tim's fear of being a jinx.

"I can't do that. I'm here to fight."

"So you're on the front line...where people get killed."

"But nothing ever happens to _me_...just to everyone else."

"That's a _good_ thing."

"Unless you're everyone else. And that village was getting attacked because of the man I killed. I couldn't stand by, but I told Major Morrow that I'd follow his orders. I would have stayed here if he had told me to. He ordered me to go. So I went. I did my best. I followed orders!"

"Then, you have nothing to feel bad about, McGee," Gibbs said. "If you're lucky enough to live through it all, then, that's something to be happy about, not to beat yourself up over."

"And it's not something to beat the barracks up over," Tony said, pointing at the newly-made hole. "What did they do to you?"

"They keep the heat in," Tim said with a lopsided smile.

"We just got back and reported in," Gibbs said, judging that Tim was a little more relaxed. "It's time to eat. You're not hiding out in here like you did something wrong. Let's go."

To his credit, Tim nodded without protest.

They left the barracks and went to the mess hall. Dinner was just getting started and there were a lot of Marines there. Gibbs met the gaze of anyone who looked toward them. Tim didn't hang his head, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

As they sat down, Gibbs decided that, if he could swing it, Tim would go out with only them for a while. Maybe they could break this trend. It was worth a try.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Two weeks later, Tony prepared to head out on his month-long leave. His queen of hearts card had arrived in the mail with Stan's thanks only a few days before. Tony was so happy that he had his full deck again that he literally begged Tim and the new guy added to the team to play poker with him.

"Come on! No one will ever play with me and I'm going on leave tomorrow!" Tony said.

"I've heard a lot about how he plays, Dorneget," Tim warned their new teammate. "Be careful. Don't put too much money in it."

"Do I _have _to play?" Dorneget asked.

"Yes!" Tony said. "Yes, you do."

"Okay, okay," Tim said. "We'll play."

They sat down on the cot and started playing. Dorneget won a couple of hands, but Tony won most of them. Quite handily.

"What are you going to do on leave? Go home?" Dorneget asked.

"No way, Dorny," Tony said. "I raise you five."

Tim looked at his hand. He hated poker. He figured he understood the odds too well from a technical point of view, but he never seemed to have the ability to do anything with that understanding.

Dorneget looked at his hand, thought for a few seconds and then tossed a bill onto the cot.

"I call. What are you going to do, then?"

"They're paying for my flight anywhere I want to go. I'm going to Hawaii! Beaches, girls, a few fruity drinks. Can't think of anything better," Tony said. "Your turn, McGee. Fish or cut bait."

Tim scowled at his cards. One measly pair of eights. Still, he could contribute a little to Tony's spending money.

"I call."

Just a little bit.

"Okay. Show 'em if you got 'em," Tony said with a grin.

Tim tossed down his hand.

"You called with a pair of eights?" Tony asked incredulously. "I thought you knew how to play poker, McGee!"

"I do," Tim grumbled.

Tony laughed. "Dorny?"

Dorneget showed his hand. Three of a kind in jacks.

"Oh, pretty good, Dorny...but not good enough! Feast your eyes on the full house!"

Tony displayed his cards with an overly-dramatic flourish.

"Okay, okay. I'm done," Tim said. "I'm not giving you any more of my money."

Tony pulled the money to him and counted it up.

"Don't plan on seeing any of _this_ again. It'll _all_ be gone by the time I get back."

"You're really coming back here?" Dorneget asked. "Man, I can't wait to be done."

"Really?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. I figured I should sign up, but I didn't really want to. Better to anticipate instead of try to get around it. ...but it doesn't mean I like it."

"Do what you gotta do?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. I needed to...get a broader perspective anyway."

"Broader perspective? Couldn't you have done that by taking a trip to Europe or something?" Tony asked.

"Maybe, but tourist attractions aren't the real world." He looked around the hot, humid barracks. "How much more real could you get than this?"

A rocket whistled overhead.

"You're way too smart," Tony said. "They won't leave you with us for very long."

"No offense, but I wouldn't mind. Recon creeps me out. It's so quiet out there...until they start trying to kill you."

The words slipped out before Tim could rethink whether it was the best thing to say or not.

"They're always trying to kill you, Ned...just like we're always trying to kill them. It's just a matter of whether or not they've found you yet."

It was as if he'd doused all discussion. It completely dampened the mood. Tim grimaced.

"Sorry. I need some air."

He got to his feet and walked out of the barracks. As he left, he heard Dorneget talking to Tony.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Nah. McGee's just...intense."

Tim shook his head and walked away from the barracks. Over the past couple of weeks, the whispers had died down a bit, but he couldn't ever get used to the looks he got.

"McGee."

The female voice made him turn around and he saw the same dancer who had spoken to him before.

"Yeah?"

"I have another message for you."

Tim nodded, although he dreaded reading what Ziva might have for him to do now.

_McGee,_

_Thank you for helping. I saw you at the village and I knew that you would do your best. I have told the village leader that you were the one who got the U.S. there in time. They are very grateful._

_Ziva_

Tim felt ashamed at the gratitude. He had done very little. He didn't want to go back to the barracks to get paper.

"Do you have a reply?"

"Will you see her?"

"It is possible."

"Just...tell her that I don't need thanks. It's my job."

The dancer smiled and nodded. Then, she went on her way. Tim looked after her.

"McGee."

Tim fought not to roll his eyes. Was every person who spoke to him out and about right now? Swallowing his irritation, Tim turned around once more.

"What is it, Gibbs?"

"That's my question for you."

"It's nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing."

"What are you talking about? The dancer or playing poker?"

"The dancer to start," Gibbs said.

"She had a message. It was just a thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping stop another massacre."

"What's wrong with getting thanked?"

"Since it was my fault they were doing it in the first place..."

"No, it wasn't."

"It was the excuse they wanted. Sure, they would have done it anyway, but now, they have a reason. I don't want to be thanked for doing what I had to do."

"McGee, you need to stop thinking about what happens out here like that. It doesn't matter. This is a war and people are going to get killed. If you can help fewer civilians pay that price, that's a good thing. The rest of it doesn't matter. Look, DiNozzo is going to be gone for a month. That puts you as my second. I need to be able to trust the people I rely on."

"Maybe you _can't_ trust me," Tim said. "Maybe I've lied to you. Maybe I'm a huge liar and I've been lying to everyone! How would you know?"

"What have you been lying about?"

Tim straightened to attention and he saw Gibbs' eyebrow go up. To Tim's surprise, Gibbs suddenly moved on.

"Is it something that affects how well you can do what needs to be done?"

"No."

"Fine. Go talk to Ducky. I'm sure he has the time right now."

"Talk to Ducky?"

"Yes. Now."

"You're not going to send me back?"

"Stop asking, McGee. I already told you I wasn't. Accept it. And go."

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant... I mean, Gibbs."

Tim turned and walked away from Gibbs as quickly as he could. He didn't know why he'd mouthed off like that. His old drill instructor would have knocked him to the ground for that. Deservedly so. He didn't really know why he was so upset right now. ...or maybe he did. Maybe it was Major Morrow telling him that Staff Sergeant Langer's family was grateful that he had managed to get his body back. He was tired of people thanking him for things that seemed so small in comparison to what he was blamed for.

Or maybe it was just because he was nervous about Tony not being there, acting as a buffer between him and the rest of the base. Tim was surprised to realize that he'd come to rely on that...even in the few weeks he'd been on Gibbs' team. He didn't want to lose that.

And it was embarrassing. He didn't like needing to rely on other people, especially not out here. It was something his drill instructor had been fond of yelling at them. They were not individuals. They were a team. There was no I in team. He'd had a team, but they were all gone now. He wasn't sure he wanted to do that again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So...Gibbs, are you going to tolerate me being gone for a month?"

"You sure you want to come back?" Gibbs asked.

"I can't leave you to deal with McGee by yourself. He's too intense."

Gibbs smiled. "Might be a nice change."

Tony grinned. "No way. With you wanting to kill everything that moves, you need a carefree guy like me to remind you of the finer things in life."

"Except that most of that is an act."

"Don't tell anyone."

"The people who know you already know that."

"I'm coming back, but I'll enjoy every minute of my leave. Then, I can dive back into this stuff we're doing out here."

"Enjoy yourself."

"Absolutely." Tony saluted.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and headed back to the barracks. He was a little worried about having to rely only on Tim during this period. Would Tim really be able to tolerate that kind of pressure?

Regardless, that was what he had, and he'd make sure that Tim was ready.

Lives would depend on it...including his.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Timothy, you decided to take me up on my offer?"

"No. Gibbs told me to come," Tim said.

Ducky smiled.

"Do you think it's a waste of time? If so, you can leave."

Tim looked around the small supply room.

"Why did you come here, Dr. Mallard? I can't imagine that it was necessary. You're too old to be drafted."

Ducky was interested that Tim wasn't trying to leave when he had been given the opportunity. He didn't know if that was because Tim wouldn't disobey an order from a superior or if he really saw some value in doing this.

"Perhaps it wasn't. I am obviously too old to be fighting, but I wanted to give back to my adopted country. It has done a great deal for me. I see my task here to be keeping as many from dying as possible, be they Americans or Vietnamese. These people have had so much hardship that I want to ease that suffering if I can."

Tim nodded.

"Timothy, may I ask if your sense of responsibility is something that predates all your problems in becoming a Marine?"

Tim smiled a little.

"I just want to be doing things right. Right time, right place...and in the right way."

"And you thought you were when you chose to join the Marine Corps."

Tim nodded.

"And that was taken away when your father disapproved?"

"I still felt like it was right, but I didn't expect him to be so against it. I don't think that's the problem."

"If so, then, you must have an idea of what the problem is."

"Maybe."

"Timothy, if you don't mind my saying so, it appears that there is something you're keeping from everyone."

"Even Marines have a right to some privacy, Dr. Mallard."

"I agree, but I am concerned about your well-being."

"I'm nervous about Gibbs relying on me."

"I don't blame you, but I think you have the required skills."

"I do, but I think Gibbs is worried about relying on me, too."

"It's not because he thinks you're a jinx."

"No, he thinks I'm nuts," Tim said.

"If he did, he wouldn't have given you this opportunity. Jethro doesn't mollycoddle anyone. If that worries you, you can set that aside. He has confidence in your ability."

Tim suddenly smiled a little.

"You know...we're out here in a foreign country, surrounded by hostile forces who would kill us as soon as look at us. Isn't this the wrong time for psychoanalysis?"

"Probably, but if it's still a problem now, then, now is what we have. You should have dealt with this before you shipped out."

Tim's smile slipped.

"Most of it wasn't a problem before I got here."

"No doubt. Well, do you still feel like a jinx?"

"Only when I leave the barracks," Tim muttered. Then, to Ducky's surprise, Tim looked up at him. "So...you're a shrink, kind of, right?"

"I do have some training along those lines, yes."

"Can you tell me what it is about this place that turns men into monsters?"

"In what respect? Surely, you don't think that fighting against aggressors is..."

"No. Not that. That's not what I mean. I'm no expert on Vietnam. I didn't even really know where it was before this all started. ...but I'm assuming that these people don't generally go around killing women and children...with flamethrowers. What happened at My Lai. What makes men..._do_ this to each other? It's not a battle. It's a massacre. It's killing people who can't fight back. Why?"

"I don't know that I can answer that question, Timothy. I'm sorry. War can bring out the best _or_ the worst in a person and what causes one man to become a saint and another a monster...I don't know."

"I've seen men become monsters, Dr. Mallard. I've seen it happen, but what I don't know is if they were already monsters or if...if something just snapped inside them at that moment."

"At what moment?"

Tim ignored the question.

"What if that's in all of us and all it will take is the right circumstances to bring it out? What if we're _all_ monsters?"

"I don't believe that, and I would be willing to bet that you don't, either."

"I've seen it happen, Dr. Mallard. I've _seen_ it."

"That doesn't mean it's widespread."

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong, either. Have I talked to you enough? Can I go?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." Tim turned to leave. He was almost out the door when Ducky really processed what Tim had said.

"Timothy, one last question?"

"Yeah?" Tim turned back reluctantly.

"Who is it that you saw?"

Tim's eyes moved away from Ducky, up toward the ceiling.

"Just some Marines...that's all."

He left as quickly as he could. Ducky looked after him. He was convinced that Tim had a secret he was keeping, and he would bet quite a bit that it had to do with his last assignment before being put on Gibbs' team. There was something about the way he talked about the incident...and it had nothing to do with being thought of as a jinx. That was a separate issue so far as Ducky could see. Still a problem but not the same one.

He hoped that there was a solution to this tangle, but until the nature of the tangle was known, it would be difficult to know. ...and while he could request information officially, that might put Tim in an extremely difficult position. Moreso than he already faced.

Why make it worse?


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Two weeks after Tony left, disaster struck Chu Lai. Not in terms of an attack by the NVA or VC. In a way, it was worse. No rockets hit...just some bad food.

Food poisoning.

The mess on the Marine side of the base was the source and the Marines were struck down, almost to a man. The only ones who avoided it were those on duty who missed chow time and those out on recon. For once, Tim was not excepted. He was hit just like the rest of them. In fact, he took longer than the rest of them to recover. He was actually admitted to the medical barracks due to the severity of his reaction.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"If you wanted to hang out with me, Tim, all you had to do was say so," Abby said after Tim had vomited up their most recent attempt to rehydrate him.

"I'm pretty...awkward around women. I have to throw myself at their feet," he said, swallowing hard.

"I don't think this is helping."

Tim leaned back on the cot.

"Maybe not. Of all the times that I could have been affected with everyone else."

Abby chuckled.

"Well, I think we'll have to go the IV route. At least for today. Hopefully, by tomorrow, you'll be over the worst of it. Otherwise, we'll have to move you somewhere else...to a real hospital."

"No. I'll be fine. I just have a tender tummy. Always have."

"It'd be a nice excuse to get out."

"Don't need one. I'm here because I want to be here."

"After the things I've seen in the last few weeks, I can't understand why you wouldn't want to go."

"Not quite..." Tim took a long slow breath. "...the adventure you were wanting?"

"It's still an adventure, just...harder than I thought it would be. You know...they tell you what to expect, but you never really know until you're here...and people are coming in with their faces missing...or blown in half and still alive."

"Yeah."

Abby put Tim on an IV and he fell asleep after a while.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim recovered, eventually, but it had been interesting to see him affected so strongly by the same thing that everyone else had suffered. There were some who wondered if he was just pretending to avoid being the exception again. However, there were enough who had seen Tim throwing up to put lie to that idea. He was pale and shaky for a few days after the worst was over. It was about the first time that he bore any resemblance to the geek he claimed to be.

By the time Tony came back, the food poisoning cause had been discovered in some supplies that had been left out of refrigeration. An accident. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be a plot since there was no attack during that time and, while more than one Marine became dehydrated, no deaths resulted. It was all just an unpleasant memory.

Tony was full of enthusiasm to share the details of his leave time. Tim and Dorneget weren't _especially_ excited about it, but they let Tony talk. ...and talk he did.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"...and there was this Hawaiian girl. She was gorgeous. I mean, absolutely gorgeous. She had a lei just for me."

"I'll bet that's what she told all the guys," Tim said.

"I don't even care," Tony said. "We spent time together. Lots of time."

"How was the weather?" Dorneget asked, clearly changing the subject.

"Beautiful. Perfect. Sunny days, nice breeze. I even tried surfing! Not that great, but I still tried it."

"And you still came back? You're crazy," Dorneget said.

"I know. But my timing was excellent. I had a much better time than you guys did."

Dorneget groaned.

"You would have anyway," Tim said.

"You have no idea," Dorneget added. "Tim got so dehydrated that they had to put him on an IV."

Tony looked concerned, and Tim just shrugged.

"My stomach can be a little sensitive. It just takes me longer to recover. That's all. I'm fine now."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Gibbs walked in.

"Dorneget. You're being transferred to a permanent posting."

Dorneget stood up.

"Really? That was fast. They said I'd probably be here for a few months."

"They need you in Saigon. Protection detail."

"Too bad," Tony said. "We haven't been four for a long time."

"Pack your gear. You're leaving with the convoy today."

"Good luck, Ned," Tim said, holding out his hand.

Dorneget shook Tim's hand. Then, he smiled, stood to attention and saluted.

"Thank you, Corporal!"

It was nothing Tim could explain, but he appreciated the gesture. He returned the salute.

Then, Dorneget was gone and they were back to three.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As 1968 ground on and on, Gibbs, Tony and Tim were sent out more than a few times. It was just them, and as they came back unscathed more than a few times, the idea of Tim being a jinx began to fade, although it never quite went away. All the events before his assignment at Chu Lai couldn't be forgotten.

By October, the rain began to fall on the coastline. When November rolled around and Operation Rolling Thunder was officially ended, it was raining nearly every day. Temperatures were still uncomfortable but nowhere near as bad as it had been in the dry summer. Activity started ramping up in the southern part of the country with Operation Speedy Express and then, in December, Operation Taylor Common began and ran for the next three months. Men were transferred in and out of Chu Lai nearly every day, it seemed, and too many didn't come back alive. For the last stretch of attacks in January, the three men were sent to An Hoa to give support for those establishing the new fire support bases. Tony complained about the swampy conditions and tall elephant grasses that made it difficult to navigate and see where they were going. Gibbs said nothing and Tim's silence was so eloquent in communicating his distaste for their situation that words were unnecessary. A number of the men were attacked by leeches, although Gibbs, Tony and Tim all avoided that particular unpleasantness.

Then, abruptly, at the beginning of February 1969, they were pulled away from An Hoa and sent up to Da Nang to fend off a major offensive. It had echoes of the Tet Offensive of the year before, only the U.S. was much better prepared for the attack. There was no trusting the NVA and VC, even during a cease fire. Even so, the Marines were fighting the NVA almost constantly, it seemed, during February, trying to get them out of their entrenched positions in the bamboo groves. It wasn't until the twenty-seventh of the month that the NVA were removed. Tet 1969 was essentially over.

Gibbs' small squad went back to normal operations. Other Marines got rotated in and out for periods of a few weeks or months, but it was always back to the three of them. Tim had learned to relax around Gibbs and Tony, but he was still overly tense whenever they went out. Whatever he'd been hiding, it remained hidden. As long as it didn't affect his ability to do his job when they went out, Gibbs decided to let Tim keep the secret. For all he knew, it could just be that Tim had a Vietnamese girlfriend. Maybe the dancer really was his girl like the men on the base liked to suggest in the lewdest possible terms.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Another little message from your girlfriend, McGee?"

The dancer headed off base without a backward glance. She seemed utterly unconcerned at the catcalls from behind her.

Tim flushed and tucked the note away.

"Come on, McGee! If you're getting a private show, that's okay. We won't tell anyone back home that you're..." He cleared his throat. "It's like the Vegas prostitutes, right? How much are you paying her? Or does she just like the white boys a lot more than the zipperheads?"

Tony rolled his eyes and urged Tim out of the mess hall. Tim was getting angry. Tony could see it. He was way too sensitive about this kind of thing.

"Oh, I know. McGee's buckin' to be a double veteran. Is that it, McGee? That must be your real turn on. Court her for a while and then..." He mimed a knife across his throat.

There was a burst of laughter from around the mess.

Tim turned around and lunged at the one doing most of the talking before Tony could stop him. In an instant, there was a fight going on. Tim was furious, and the words coming out of his mouth displayed a versatility that Tony was almost jealous of.

However, he headed into the fray, trying to get a hold of Tim and pull him back before any of the highers got wind of the fight.

There hadn't been any real occasion to see Tim fight because they were generally trying to _avoid_ altercations when they went out. He was evenly matched with his opponent and he had rage on his side.

"McGee! Stand down!"

Tony winced, but Tim instantly responded to the unspoken command. In fact, he stopped fighting so quickly that his opponent got an unexpected swing in that sent Tim reeling back into Tony. He turned around after regaining his feet and straightened to attention, shaking his head a little bit after the heavy blow. Everyone quieted down in the face of the command.

Gibbs was standing there, looking stern. He raised an eyebrow and then walked out of the mess hall.

"On your six, Gunnery Sergeant," Tim said and followed after him.

Tony came along behind.

When they got back to the barracks, Gibbs turned around.

"Explain yourself."

"I'm sorry, Gunnery Sergeant," Tim said, still at attention, eyes straight ahead. "I lost my head. Won't happen again."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim didn't answer...and he didn't get a chance to.

"Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs."

Gibbs turned around.

"Major Morrow would like to speak with you, sir."

Gibbs grunted his assent and then looked at Tim.

"This isn't the end of it, McGee."

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant."

Gibbs strode out. When he was gone, Tim sat down stiffly on his cot.

"What was _that_ all about, McGee?"

"I don't want _anyone _suggesting that I'd do that."

"Come on, they were just razzing you. No one seriously thinks _you'd_ kill her after having sex with her."

Tim grimaced.

"No. It's not just razzing. What he said is _never_ okay."

"Hey, McGee..."

"Don't even start," Tim said. "Don't even try, DiNozzo."

He got to his feet, refusing to look at Tony.

"I need to work off some of this," he said. "I'm going to run. I'll watch for Gibbs to come back."

"Okay."

Tim left, and Tony blinked. That was a side of Tim he hadn't seen in a long time. That repressed rage was almost genuinely frightening.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"There are discrepancies in the account Corporal McGee gave regarding the recon team he was on before transferring to your squad," Major Morrow said.

Gibbs looked at him and then at Major Vance.

"What discrepancies? And why now? It's been over a year."

"Analysis of his account took a backseat to other operations. It's now coming up. Have you seen any indication of treachery?" Major Vance asked.

"No. None."

"This source of his?" Major Morrow asked.

"If he's seen her, he's way better at covert action than I am."

"We're worried that Corporal McGee may be playing the part of a traitor."

"He's not a traitor, sir."

"He claims that they were ambushed and then driven into a landmine. The bodies, when we looked at the reports, don't fit with an ambush. He states that two others survived but died en route and he was able to bring people back to get the bodies. No sign of the ambushers. The weapons were all there. None missing. Whatever happened out there, whatever Corporal McGee's loyalties really are, he has lied, and we need to know why."

"Understood. Would you like to question him now?"

"First, we want your assessment. Do you know why he would lie?"

"I don't."

"Do you think he could be covering up betrayal?"

"No, sir."

"Do you think he would trust you enough to tell you what really happened?"

The word _trust_ triggered something in Gibbs' mind. Ducky had said, over a year ago, that Tim was hiding something and that maybe he would eventually trust enough to reveal it. Had that time come?

"I don't know, sir. Would you like me to try?"

Major Morrow looked at Major Vance who nodded.

"Yes. He has a good record, but if he's a coward, if he killed those men himself, if there is something else going on that we don't know about, we _need_ to know. The situation out here does not allow for betrayal of any kind. Rot from within is as dangerous as attacks from without."

"Understood."

"Good. You're dismissed."

Gibbs saluted and walked out of the room.

This was worse than a fight in the mess hall. If things got as bad as they looked right now, Tim could face a court martial, and possibly, execution.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tim saw Gibbs striding back across the base toward their barracks. He swallowed and increased his pace. It wouldn't do to be late for a deserved dressing down. The run had calmed him down and he could acknowledge that he'd gone off mostly without cause. It was the same kind of ribbing that always happened. He just took it too personally. Hopefully, Gibbs would accept that he knew he had been wrong. Little fights happened all the time. No reason to send him back. He'd even apologize to the guy if necessary...and mostly mean it.

He went into the barracks.

"Gibbs, I flew off the handle. I know it. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"Forget about that, McGee," Gibbs said, looking more serious than Tim had ever seen him. "We have a much bigger problem. The brass knows that you lied."

"Oh." Tim felt his heart sink. It had seemed like the only possible option at the time, and he had hoped that his story was enough like what had really happened.

Obviously not.

"Lied about what?" Tony asked.

"We have a big problem here, McGee."

"What's that, Gunnery Sergeant?"

Gibbs looked frustrated.

"Why do you always do that?"

"It's better not to maintain the illusion of camaraderie when you are my commanding officer, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs. Then, I don't get taken by surprise if you decide to send me back. Gunnery Sergeant."

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"This a lot more serious than that," Gibbs said. "They're talking court martial and, in a time of war, if you're convicted, you could be executed as a traitor. This goes way past worrying about going back to the world."

Tim swallowed.

"You have a chance here, McGee. You tell me what really happened and _maybe_, depending on what the truth is, you'll have a chance of getting out of this alive. Maybe."

"Yes, I lied, Gunnery Sergeant."

"And stop calling me that, McGee!"

"May I sit down?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes and gestured.

"Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" Tony asked, impatiently.

"McGee is going to tell us both. Right now. Aren't you, McGee?"

"I lied. I wasn't behind the others when the landmine went off. I was ahead of them."

Tony laughed a little. "That's it?"

"Why were you ahead?" Gibbs asked.

"Because we weren't running from an ambush. I was running from them."

Tony furrowed his brow. "Why were they chasing you?"

Tim took a deep breath. "They were going to kill me to keep me from getting back to base."

He saw Tony look at Gibbs. Just saying that wouldn't be enough, of course. They wouldn't want to believe him. He was going to have to tell the whole story. The story that he had hidden and had tried to pretend had never happened. His first meeting with Ziva.

"Why, McGee?" Gibbs asked. "Might as well tell us everything."

"Don't have much choice, do I?"

"No, you don't."

Tim cleared his throat. "It started as a regular recon assignment. We'd had a few skirmishes and beat the VC units back pretty handily. No casualties, but it meant that we were all on edge. We were making our way through some heavy elephant grass and it was raining. Like it always is."

As if it had happened just yesterday, not more than a year ago, Tim could see the whole horrific event again.

The moment when he had seen men turn into monsters.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_How much longer will we be in this stuff?"_

"_Rain, grass, leeches. How much better can it get?"_

"_There's someone in the grass! Catch him! Get the little gook!"_

_They surged into the grass and dragged their resisting captor back. Sergeant Larson took one look and started to laugh._

"_It's a woman, you idiots!"_

"_They use women, too."_

"_Well, then, kill her and get it over with. We need to get back."_

_Tim looked at the woman. She had a petite build and a mass of frizzy hair which had been pulled back into a manageable ponytail at one point. And when she looked at him, he noticed her frightened eyes._

"_Wait! Sergeant, wait."_

"_What, McGee?"_

_Tim swallowed. He didn't draw attention to himself generally. He didn't like to remind them of how much they didn't want him there._

"_She's not Vietnamese."_

"_No, I am not!" she said very quickly. "I am not your enemy!"_

_The others looked at her and laughed again._

"_You're right. A round-eyed woman. About time. I'm tired of seeing all these zits running around. Sarge...may I make a suggestion?"_

_Larson looked at him and then at the woman who was struggling to get away from the two men holding her._

"_She's pretty feisty, Sarge."_

"_No," Tim said. "She's not one of them, and she hasn't done anything. Just let her go."_

"_We have no guarantee that she's not part of the NVA or VC. Commies are everywhere. She just looks different. The zits all look alike."_

"_We're ahead of schedule. Why should the Americals be the only ones who get to benefit? We take more risks than the soldiers."_

"_And she's here and willing."_

_Tim looked around at the other squad members. It was like they'd suddenly been replaced by aliens. _

"_Why should soldiers have all the fun?"_

_Tim thought that he and the woman came to the same conclusion at the same time. She started to struggle to escape even more and started to beg them to let her go. She got in a good kick right in the groin and got a punch to the face that left her dazed. Tim tried to stop them._

"_No! You can't do that! This is not what we're here for!" he said._

"_Oh, come on, McGee. No one will know. You want to go last? You can even do the honors." Larson laughed. "You'll be a double veteran."_

"_No. Have you guys gone completely crazy? This is wrong!"_

_One of them tried to grab hold of Tim, but he fought them back, drove the butt of his rifle into the gut of one of the men holding her, wrenched her away from the other and then stood in front of her, aiming his rifle at his own team. He couldn't believe what was happening._

"_Get out of here," he said to her._

"_But..."_

"_Look...just get out of here. Now. Don't wait to see what they're going to do next. Go."_

_He looked at her for just a moment and tried to emphasize how important it was that she got away. She gave him one last look and then plunged through the grass, out of sight._

"_Traitor, McGee."_

"_You're the traitors. You're betraying who we're supposed to be! We don't kill women and children!"_

_Larson looked at the others and then at Tim._

"_So...how determined are you to fire that gun, McGee?" he asked._

_Tim wasn't determined at all. He just wanted to get the woman away. She was. He stood down._

"_He'll make a report when we get back. The jinx will get us all court martialed. Nothing will happen to him...just like with everyone else."_

_Tim looked at them. That ugly look was still in their eyes. He couldn't honestly say that he'd never say anything about what happened._

"_Maybe _he_ should have the bad luck for once," Larson said. "Instead of raining it down on the good guys...I think that he's going to be the only casualty of a sudden ambush."_

_Tim didn't wait to give them a chance to do that or let cooler heads prevail. Larson was the sergeant, but he was going along with it. He was up for promotion and he'd be getting back to the world soon. He wouldn't let Tim ruin that. He wouldn't let _anyone_ ruin that._

_Tim threw a punch and hit Larson right in the face. Then, he plunged ahead of his team and started to run. The others were right on his heels, but he kept up a fast enough pace that they couldn't get a clear shot at him._

"_Get him! Kill the little–"_

_That was as far as he got. Suddenly, there was an explosion and Tim was thrown forward onto his face in the mud and rain. He got to his feet and turned around._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"A landmine. I'd run through that exact same spot. Didn't have anything happen to me. One of them stepped on it. They were all in a group. Sergeant Larson was dead instantly. Most of the others were, too. The one closest to me and the one furthest behind both were alive." Tim looked at Gibbs and Tony, brazenly daring them to criticize what he was about to say. "I ran back to Bobby. He was the one furthest behind. He had been the nicest to me. He was still alive. I picked him up and started trying to get him to the rendezvous. The other one...Williams. He didn't have half his torso anymore, but he was still alive. He reached out for help. I ignored him. I couldn't have taken two anyway, but I left him there. I tried to get Bobby out, but he was bleeding too much. The shrapnel tore him apart. He died about ten minutes later."

"I don't get it. Why didn't you just tell the truth?" Tony asked.

"That I attacked my CO, that I defended a woman we knew nothing about, that I was going to turn them in for attempting to rape an innocent woman? Maybe they wouldn't have gone through with it, but what did it matter? They were all dead. Every one of them. The only reason I was alive was my dumb luck. If I told the truth, that would be the last thing their families would have known about them...that their sons, brothers or husbands were... It's not my place to destroy someone who can't fight back. ...and everyone knew that Larson never let _anyone_ take point except him. He was always in front. So I came up with a reasonable explanation for how they died and everyone was fine with believing it because I was already known to be a jinx. The only time it actually did some good."

"Some good? McGee, you _lied_ and they caught you lying," Tony said. "That could really be..._bad_! They aren't going to want to believe this."

"You think they would have wanted to believe it a year ago?" Tim asked. "And they probably wouldn't have wanted it to get around. They would have sent me back. I can't go back. Are you going to send me back now, Gunnery Sergeant?"

"McGee, if you call me _Gunnery Sergeant_ one more time I'm going to wallop you upside the head."

Tim laughed a little.

"That's the story. Do you believe me?"

"It doesn't matter if _we_ believe you, McGee," Tony said. "We're not the ones who can have you executed."

"It _does_ matter," Tim said, getting to his feet. "I care about whether or not I'm going to be accused of treason. I don't want that because I'm no traitor...but I care about whether or not you guys believe me. I've been on your team longer than any other, Gibbs. You guys should know me better than anyone. If you don't trust me...no one will."

Gibbs hadn't said a whole lot up to this point, and Tim wished he would.

"Who was the woman? Or do I know already?" he asked.

"Ziva."

"Your mysterious source?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. She thinks she owes me."

"Sounds to me like she does."

Tim shook his head. "Whether she does or not, all I wanted was to forget all that. I didn't want to remember, and she won't let me forget. She says she has to save my life in order to make us even."

"Wouldn't mind having someone watching _my _back."

"Don't you get it, Tony?" Tim asked. "I don't think what I did was anything great and wonderful. What I saw in their eyes was worse than...than amputating Jim's leg! I couldn't have just stood there and watched it happen! ...and to be honest, I was worried about what would happen if my dad found out. I'm not this great person you seem to think I am. I just want to get through this and go home."

"Well, I believe you, McGee, but no one else will want to."

"I know that."

Gibbs still wasn't really saying anything. He looked at Tim for a long moment.

"McGee, with me. DiNozzo. Stay here."

"All right, Gibbs."

Tim followed Gibbs across the base to the Marine headquarters. He took a deep breath as they stepped inside the building.

"Wait here, Corporal," Gibbs said.

Tim was surprised at hearing Gibbs use his title. Did that bode well or ill? He stood in parade rest, unable to relax in a situation like this. A court martial. Accusations of treason. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea...or more like the _only_ idea. When they had asked him what happened, he hadn't even thought really. It was just what came out. Use what they had threatened against him as the explanation.

After ten minutes, the door opened and Gibbs looked almost amused at Tim's stance.

"Come in, Corporal."

Tim walked in and saluted, trying not to feel nervous that Major Vance _and_ Major Morrow were there, staring at him.

"Corporal McGee, you lied to the military regarding an altercation in which six Marines were killed."

"Yes, sir," Tim said.

"You have told a new version to Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs."

"Yes, sir."

"And you now claim that this is the truth."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any evidence of your claim?"

"No, sir. I would assume that Ziva would be able to verify what I say happened, but I have no idea where she is. I know very little about her. All I have is my word."

"And how much is your word worth when you have already admitted to lying, Corporal McGee?" Major Morrow asked.

"Why lie?" Major Vance asked.

Tim looked at Gibbs for a moment but then focused on the people who were making the decisions.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"I didn't think that I would be believed. I didn't think that there was any value in destroying the reputations of men who were no longer able to defend themselves. ...and I didn't want to be sent home by people who would just be focused on making sure no one knew about it." He kept himself at attention, hoping to demonstrate by his stance that he meant no disrespect in his words.

"I see."

"I'm not a traitor, sir."

"Please wait outside, Corporal McGee."

"Yes, sir." Tim saluted and walked out, hoping that there was something positive coming out of this.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As soon as the door closed, Gibbs turned back to Major Vance and Major Morrow. He didn't know Major Vance as well, but he trusted Major Morrow.

"Well, Gunny. This is bigger than any of us thought it would be. You regretting taking McGee on?"

"No," Gibbs said firmly. "I haven't had any problems with him."

"I was told that there was a minor...altercation today."

"There was. As soon as he was told to stop, he did. He apologized, admitted that it was his fault. I've had no regrets taking him on. He is an excellent Marine and devoted to doing his best here."

"You believe his story?"

"I have no reason to believe otherwise. I've seen McGee's work. I don't know the men he was with before."

"Sergeant Larson had an exemplary record," Major Vance said. "His squad was known for its skill. Never any complaints. Until now."

"Whether or not he's telling the truth now, the bottom line is this: Is he a risk?"

"No," Gibbs said. "McGee has his own problems, but he's a great Marine and I count myself lucky to have him."

"If Major Vance doesn't have any complaint, you can keep him. For now."

"No complaints, but he had better hope this doesn't go beyond us. If there's an inquiry into it, he'll be the one who takes the fall because he's the only one left."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow but didn't protest.

"I don't make the rules, Gunny, but I enforce them."

"Understood, sir."

"Good."

Major Morrow looked at Gibbs.

"You're getting a new assignment tomorrow. More dangerous than usual. Do you trust McGee to be part of your team?"

"Yes."

"Dismissed."

Gibbs saluted and left.

As he expected, Tim was standing in parade rest, waiting. How anyone could _choose_ to be in that position was beyond his ken. Tim saw him and started to open his mouth to speak.

"Don't make me repeat myself, McGee."

Tim smiled a little.

"What's going to happen?"

"You're all right. For now."

"I'm staying? No court martial?"

"No, but you're on thin ice. Lying was pretty stupid, McGee."

"Yeah. I know. I still don't know that I'd do anything differently...even now."

"I need one thing from you, McGee."

"What?"

"I need your promise that you're being honest with me now, that you're not lying."

"I promise."

"That came pretty fast."

"I know there's no reason for you to trust me after this, but I promise that I'm telling the truth."

"What do you want, then, McGee?"

"I don't understand."

"You're looking for something here. You could ask to be transferred, but you seem to care about staying here."

"You guys have stuck it out with me so far, even as weird as I am...and you haven't died yet."

"That's not saying much."

"If the worst has to happen, I'd rather have us all go down. I don't want to be the only survivor again. If it has to be everyone, I don't want to be the one left."

"I'd rather not have you plan on dying."

"I'm not. I want to live, but I don't want to live at anyone else's expense. When we first got here, we said we'd all go down together. It was a lie. I'm still here and none of them are. They're all gone."

"You promise me that you're being honest and I'll promise you that we'll do our best."

"I promise."

"Then, we all survive or we all go down."

He put out his hand. Tim shook it.

"Deal."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Early the next morning, Gibbs, Tony and Tim headed out. They took a transport south and west for a few miles. Then, they hopped off and headed into the highlands on foot. This was a sniper mission, only highers had decided that it would be a mission needing the services of two snipers. A team of VC snipers had been reeking havoc near the Cambodian border. Snipers hunting snipers was asking for trouble, but Tony was a great scout and not a bad shot himself, and while he wasn't as good as Gibbs, Tim's marksmanship had only gotten better in the year he'd been with Gibbs and Tony. This was an open-ended mission. No deadlines. No rendezvous. If they were killed or captured in the process, it was likely that no one would know.

As often happened when there was a lot of risk involved, Tim sat down before they left and wrote a letter home. He didn't tell them what was coming. It was just a thought that, if he was killed, he would want them to have a last letter from him.

_Dear Mom, Dad and Sarah,_

_As always, it's really hot here. I will never complain about snow again. Ever. In fact, I want to find a place where it's dry and snowy. If that's possible. We're going out on a mission, and I'm just hoping to avoid the leeches again. I've been pretty lucky about that so far, but the guys who didn't...well, let's just say that they've donated blood to a worthy cause. Abby has been nice to be around. She's still so upbeat, even with everything that she's seen as a nurse. She's "dated" Tony some, and me as well. Nothing inappropriate. I promise. I think she wants to give back to as many of us as possible and so she flirts with everyone who comes into the hospital._

_Sarah, I'm glad to see that you're getting ready for college. Don't get too distracted by the boys just because they all are seeing how great you are. No getting married until you're forty. Ha. If you get a chance, I'd love to read some of the stories you're writing. Maybe something short since you'll have to mail it to me. I don't know if I ever told you before, but I toyed with the idea of getting into writing during college. Maybe there are some of my pitiful scribblings hanging around._

_I want to get this out in the next post; so I'm going to close. I'm thinking about you all and I hope everything is going well._

_Tim_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Knowing how dangerous their situation could be, they each had an added edge as they began to track their prey. There was little joking from Tony, and Tim and Gibbs became almost mute. Tim's silence was his usual tension-filled silence while Gibbs' silence was just him not speaking.

For the first day, they didn't find any hint of where to go. They knew the basic region to search, but the region was large and they still had to avoid the VC and NVA.

Then, two days after they started their search, Tony found a sign of a small group, moving covertly through the trees. It could be their targets. Tim and Gibbs took up some flanking positions while Tony continued to follow the signs. The silent hours ticked by. None of them made a sound. Then, Tony gave the signal.

They were coming.

Tim and Gibbs started to watch for the approach while Tony got out of the way. He would be ready for anyone who avoided Tim and Gibbs.

The first of the VC unit appeared. Clearly the men they were looking for. Tim took aim and thought about the atrocities he had seen from the VC to distract him from his ambivalence about killing someone from a distance like this. Almost as if they had planned it, he and Gibbs both shot at the same time and the two VC who appeared first went down. Obviously, the others clued in very quickly.

There was no chance to take out another, but Tim kept his eyes peeled for any movement. He knew that Tony would _not_ be in the way; so any movement he saw would be the enemy. Another shot from Gibbs and Tim saw another body fall. Three down.

Then, a shot whistled by Tim's head. He ducked down. They clearly hadn't got all the snipers. He heard a shot...from Tony. That was the sign that they were moving out. Time to change over from sniping to pursuing. He headed away from his hiding place and to the prearranged spot. Gibbs was there already, and Tony appeared at about the same time Tim did. He pointed and held up four fingers. Four down. Four to go. Gibbs nodded and gestured.

They started their pursuit.

They had been slowly closing the gap, but suddenly, everything changed.

They were running and suddenly, there were bullets flying toward them. The VC had found a chance to retrench.

Tony, Tim and Gibbs scattered instantly. They started firing back. Instead of silence, their part of the highlands was now very loud.

...and it got louder.

Horribly louder.

Something flew through the air and landed between Tim and Tony and Gibbs. They had just enough time to look at it and realize what it was.

And then, the grenade exploded.

In the split second _before_ it exploded, Tim felt a small, strong hand grab hold of him and pull him back.

There was a searing pain across his head and then, blackness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Help...Tim...my leg..."_

"McGee, you need to wake up."

"_You think that getting involved in this will make you a man? It won't. Being a man isn't picking up a gun and killing people."_

There were taps on his face.

"_This is not a simple situation, Tim. You're leaving a promising track to fight a battle that isn't ours to fight. You're giving up your life for this. Is that what you want?"_

His eyes opened for a moment and then slipped shut again.

"_You want to do what? Are you crazy?"_

Tim came awake with a start. He sat up, looking around for his attacker.

"McGee, stay quiet!"

A hand over his mouth. Tim finally reconnected with the situation and he looked toward the whispered voice.

The female voice.

"Ziva," he said softly.

He looked around.

"Tony...Gibbs...where..."

"They have been captured. I saw them taken."

Tim felt as though his world was collapsing around him. Not again. Not _again_. Not them.

"Were...they alive?"

"Yes. Injured but they were alive."

"Why, Ziva?" he asked. "Why did you do that?"

"Save you?"

"Yes!"

"I owed you a debt."

Tim pressed his hands against his head. He shook his head.

"No. No! NO!" He swore feelingly.

"I do not understand," Ziva said.

"I don't want to be the only one who survives! I don't want to be that again!"

In the moment, Tim could only think of that one thing: Tony and Gibbs were paying the price for his safety.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How bad are you hit, Tony?" Gibbs said quietly.

"Not bad. I think I've got some shrapnel in my leg, but I've got all my limbs," he whispered back.

"How's your Spanish?"

Tony smiled.

"Perfecto. Y tu?"

Gibbs chuckled softly. What were the odds that their Vietnamese captors would understand Spanish? He had no idea, but he was fairly certain they'd know at least some English. They may even be fluent.

Since being restrained and put on the forced march, Tony and Gibbs hadn't said anything to each other, but now that they'd stopped for the night, there was some time to evaluate their situation.

One of their captors came by them and kicked them both.

"No talking!" he ordered.

Gibbs obeyed, mostly because it would lull them into a false sense of security. He and Tony were honor bound to try and escape. ...and the last thing either of them wanted was to join the other POWs. Everyone had heard the stories and no one wanted that. Better to die.

He turned his thoughts to Tim. Who wasn't with them. Had he escaped capture or was he dead? Ruefully, Gibbs rather thought that if Tim _had_ escaped capture he would be _wishing_ he was dead instead. Even so, Gibbs hoped that Tim had got away. He didn't know how Tim had avoided getting hit by the shrapnel from that grenade. Both he and Tony were feeling the effects of it. They were lucky they hadn't been hit worse, but the aim had been off and so the shrapnel wasn't as deadly as it would have been.

He tested his bonds. They were well-restrained right now, but if they could find some way of escaping before these four could join up with a larger force, they might just succeed in getting away. Once there were more, it was all over.

Gibbs looked at Tony and saw the same knowledge in his eyes.

They probably had a day to get free, at most. After that...they'd be either dead or a prisoner...which was worse than being dead.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim struggled to get to his feet, even though he was still feeling a little dazed from the graze. He touched his head and winced but was mostly unsurprised to feel a bandage. He pulled it off. It would be a glaring sign of his presence walking through the forest. Then, he took a step and stumbled. He sat back down on the ground with a heavy thump.

"What is wrong?" Ziva asked.

Tim wanted to laugh at the question, but they didn't have time for that. He had to focus on what was important. He rolled up his pant leg and looked at his boot. There was a long gash there on his ankle. Not deep, but he knew that it would be better to patch that up.

Ziva obviously thought the same. She was silent as she helped him apply a small bandage. It didn't look too clean, but it was better than nothing. He tried standing up again. His head was still a bit foggy and it still hurt to walk, but he could manage. Good. An idea was forming in his head.

"How determined are you to help me?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm going to track them down and save them. No matter what it takes," Tim said. "You've saved my life whether I wanted you to or not. Now, either help me or go on your way because I'm not going back alone. Not again. I can't."

Ziva looked at him for a long moment. Tim met her gaze and refused to look away. He had never paid this much attention to her before. She was probably about his age, maybe a little younger. She had a world-weary look in her eyes, the kind people developed when they had been forced to grow up too quickly. And yet, there was a sincerity there that he wouldn't have expected.

"This is not just about them," she said.

"No. It's not. I'm a selfish jerk and I don't want to deal with going back alone. I'm not a good person, Ziva. I'm just trying to help myself."

"By saving others. You have done that before."

"Because it was the right thing to do. It doesn't mean anything more than that. Are you leaving or staying?"

"You will not succeed on your own. You are injured, although it is minor. You are outnumbered. You saved me from a fate that would have been _worse_ than dying. I will do the same for you."

"Did you see the way they went?"

"Yes. They headed north. If they do not kill your friends, there is a large encampment approximately fifty kilometers from here. Once they reach that place, there is no hope of saving them."

"Then, we'll have to stop them from getting there, won't we," Tim said.

Ziva smiled.

"Yes. We will."

Ziva carried no guns; so Tim gave her his pistol while he kept the rifle. Both of them had knives. Time being of the essence, and speed being essential, Tim lightened his load as much as possible. He stripped down what he was carrying to the bare minimum. A first aid kit, ammunition, weapons, a small supply of rations and a canteen. The rest was abandoned as unnecessary.

"Is this paint on your face and arms necessary?"

Tim smiled a little.

"It helps. I'm too white. I stick out."

"Yes, you are _very_ white," she said, patting his face. "After all the time you have been here. You should be darker."

"I don't tan very easily."

"It is an intimidating look."

"I'm sure that's part of the reason we do it. Can you keep up?"

"Can _you_ keep up with me?" she retorted.

They began to follow the trail left by the VC unit. He could still feel the pain in his ankle. There was probably some shrapnel in there, but they didn't have time to bother with it. Tim didn't know what Ziva was thinking, but _he_ was thinking that there was no way he would accept failure.

Not this time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

They kept going as fast as they could, as silently as they could, as long as they could, but Ziva could see that Tim's leg was still bothering him. He didn't say a word as he kept up with her, but she could see that he was gritting his teeth against the pain. She wouldn't be surprised if he had some shrapnel buried inside. It was too common to think he'd managed to avoid it. She hadn't been able to get him completely protected when the grenade exploded. They'd need to take a break soon, but she wasn't sure if Tim would be willing to stop.

She was realizing how little she knew him. In reality, they'd only crossed paths twice before this. Other than that, it was only the reports from Hai, the dancer who delivered her notes, that had given her any information about him. He had seemed awkward and strangely, from Hai's descriptions, almost childlike, easily embarrassed by the assumptions the Marines on the base made about her. However, the times Ziva had seen him in person, he had been stressed, driven by whatever inner conviction he had, and angry. The anger was not at her. She didn't know who was the focus of his anger, but Tim was definitely angry. Angry and afraid.

It was getting dark and the VC still ruled the night, especially in the highlands. It was safer not to keep moving unless absolutely necessary. She stopped and put out her hand to stop Tim as well.

"McGee, we should rest during the darkest hours," she said. "We will make too much noise in the darkness."

Tim didn't want to. She could tell, but she also knew that he was aware of the necessity of recharging. They wouldn't be able to fight off four armed men if they were running on fumes now.

"All right. Let's get off the trail."

She nodded. As soon as he wasn't moving with purpose, Tim began to limp, favoring his right leg where he'd been injured. Still, he managed to keep himself pretty quiet. They dug into a large growth of plants. The ground was mud. Thick, sticky mud. They'd lucked out avoiding rain today, but they couldn't plan on that lasting and it was still plenty wet. They burrowed down to get some rest for a few hours.

"McGee..."

"Tim."

"What?"

She could hear the smile in his voice. It was too dark to see.

"My first name. It's Tim."

"They all called you McGee that first time."

A long pause.

"Yeah. They did. Everyone does out here, but I have a first name and I'd like to be able to remember it for when I go back."

"Very well. Tim."

"Thanks."

"How is your leg?"

"It hurts, but it's nothing serious. Just a scrape and I can run on it without causing more damage. At least not serious damage."

"You say you are not a good person, but I cannot imagine anyone doing what you are doing now, not even out of... not just because you are thinking of yourself."

"Look, Ziva...people think I'm a jinx. I hate it. I'm stuck here until the war is over...whichever way it goes. I can't go back to base alone. I can't do that because it would make things worse for me."

"Why will you not just admit that you want to save the people on your team? There is nothing wrong with that."

No response. Ziva heard Tim shift position.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked softly.

"Two years."

"Where did you come from?"

"Israel."

"Why would Israel be sending people out here? Don't you have enough to worry about?"

"They did not send me. You are right. Israel is fighting enough battles. We do not need another."

"Yeah, I'm sure. One war is enough. It's bad enough."

"Yes."

"So...who sent you?"

"I was not born in Israel," Ziva said. "My family moved to Israel when I was twelve years old and have been fighting to stay ever since. But we had a country before. It is hard to give up old loyalties."

"Yeah."

"I cannot tell you who sent me here. It is a risk that I cannot take, even though I trust you."

"I understand. Some risks...you can't take, no matter what."

Another period of silence.

"We should get some sleep," Tim said.

"Yes. I agree."

Ziva shifted over beside Tim. She felt him tense, but he didn't say anything. Neither did she. It wasn't because she needed warmth. It was plenty warm. Neither of them smelled the best, but that didn't matter. Operating in isolation made her want to have the comfort of someone close by when possible. Tim was there. He was very solid and alive. Ziva was glad that he didn't push her away. They fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony looked at Gibbs and then at their captors. This was not looking good for them. He hoped that Tim had got out alive...although if he was alive, Tony was positive that Tim wouldn't go back. Gibbs had told him about Tim's fear of being the only one left again. This wasn't even just a fear of being a jinx. Tony hadn't forgotten how Tim had spoken when he'd told Tony about the deaths of his boot camp buddies. He had been back there for a second. It was a moment of devastation, and he had been moved around until he had forgotten the concept of being accepted on a team where he had value in and of himself. He was an unwelcome graft in every case, not part of a team.

Now, he had a team, but Tony figured that Tim was terrified of losing it again.

No, Tim wouldn't go back without them.

If he was alive.

His leg ached like no tomorrow. He figured he had more than his share of metal in his body. He wasn't going to be running fast any time soon. It wasn't serious, but it was painful. He also had noticed that Gibbs had been limping, too. He figured that Gibbs had sprained an ankle. Whatever else was wrong, the plain fact of the matter was that the two of them were not in a good condition to get away quickly, even if they could escape their restraints.

Even so, given the chance, Tony would risk being shot in the process of trying to escape over just tamely accepting transport to one of the POW prisons. He nudged Gibbs.

"Puedes correr?" he whispered.

There was a pause. While Gibbs rarely, if ever, admitted to any weakness. In a situation like this, reality had to take precedence over appearance.

"Creo que sí. Por poco tiempo. Y tú?"

Tony flexed his leg muscles and felt the pain. He also was feeling a little thick in the head.

"Lo mismo digo."

Running a little ways wouldn't help them. That would only delay the inevitable.

"Tenemos que pensar en algo."

The Charlie on guard noticed that they were talking. He walked over and hit Gibbs with the butt of his rifle. Then, he turned and kicked Tony in the gut. He gasped for breath and curled into a fetal position.

"No talking!"

Tony remained where he lay on the ground even after he could breathe again.

So far...things weren't going all that well.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim didn't really sleep much. He woke up with every sound. And when the inevitable rain started, he was wet, miserable, in pain, and unhappy. Ziva appeared to be asleep beside him. Tim had been surprised that she had wanted to keep close to him. It wasn't normal for him to have people wanting to be near him.

Through the long night, Tim would fall asleep and then wake up. After a few hours of it, he looked at Ziva. The hair she had pulled back so tightly had loosened. A few strands had escaped. Almost against his will, he reached out and brushed them out of the way.

Ziva's hand was on his wrist in a second, gripping it tightly...threateningly. Then, her eyes opened and she realized who it was. She smiled and loosened her grip.

"Your hair was loose," Tim said awkwardly in a whisper.

Ziva sat up slowly, moving the foliage as little as possible.

"It often does. I should cut it off, but I would prefer to keep it if I can. It is...something of my own. I do not have much here."

"I understand wanting to have something of your own."

"Do you?"

Tim smiled.

"Sort of."

"What does _that_ mean?"

Even now, after all that had happened, Tim felt himself blush.

"After we finished boot camp...before we shipped out...my friends got me drunk and convinced me that it would get me girls if I got a tattoo."

"A tattoo?"

She smiled.

"Yeah. On my butt."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What is it? An eagle? A bullet? The name of your girlfriend?"

Tim laughed softly. "I don't have a girlfriend. No picture. Just a word."

"What word?"

Tim felt his blush deepen although it was dark enough that Ziva wouldn't notice...even if his face paint would give him some camouflage.

"Mom. Couldn't think of anything else."

Ziva laughed a little.

"It suits you, I am sure."

Tim chuckled in reply and then sat up. He winced as his ankle dragged on the ground. Not moving for a few hours hadn't made it feel any better.

"Will you be all right?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. It hurts, but it's not serious."

"Are you certain? It will be dangerous if you cannot–"

"I know what I can do and I know what I can bear," Tim interrupted. "I'll be fine."

"Very well. We should go now."

Tim nodded. Carefully, they climbed out of the foliage. It was raining. Tim felt like he'd never be dry again. He was soaked. Ziva reoriented herself and then pointed north. Tim nodded and they started off, jogging through the jungle. Tim had to rely on Ziva's knowledge of the direction they'd gone and their likely destination. He was more than willing to do so if it helped find Tony and Gibbs.

They ran all day long, covering ground quite quickly, stopping only twice to rest and eat. The closer they got the more certain Ziva seemed to be. Tim hoped that Tony and Gibbs would be able to run. It would take them long enough to get back to a base, _any_ base, on foot. If they had to go slowly...

Ziva suddenly came to a stop.

"What will be our goal?" she asked.

"To get Tony and Gibbs out. What do you expect?"

"No. I mean... Do you want to try to get them away without death?"

"I don't care about killing the Viet Cong. I don't see a reason to show them any mercy." Tim felt his stomach churn with the hatred he felt when he remembered their handiwork.

Ziva just nodded.

"That is what I wanted to know. I think they are close."

Tim nodded in return and they continued on their way. By the time the sun had set (not that they could tell with all the rain), they had found the trail, marked by faltering steps of someone injured, perhaps two someones...and four others. Precisely what they were looking for.

They paused. It was time to start planning. By silent agreement, they split up and started to track their targets.

Without fanfare, there they were. Tim saw them all, and he watched as Gibbs tripped, fell to the ground and then was kicked savagely by his captor. His blood boiled but he resisted the urge to leap into the fray right then without a plan. He had to stay calm. He took a long quiet breath even as Tony tried to stop the man and got beaten for his trouble.

Finally, one of the others stopped him and started talking rapidly, obviously giving orders. They were going to stop for the night. They felt relatively safe in this part of the jungle, clearly. They didn't know about him. They didn't know about Ziva. All to the better. They'd be on guard for Tony and Gibbs to try something (not much by the look of them), but not for outsiders to attack.

He watched as they settled down for the night, forcing Tony and Gibbs to move to a different spot. They were given no food and no shelter. Quickly, Tim hurried back to the meeting spot. He and Ziva seemed to get there at the same time.

She held up four fingers and Tim nodded in agreement.

Then, she patted his rifle and gestured to one of the trees. Tim wasn't sure he could climb that silently. He walked over to it and analyzed the location of the branches. Could he do that?

Yes. He could. It would be the best vantage point; so he could and _would_ do it.

He nodded, dropped his pack on the ground, slung the rifle onto his back and started to climb. He got up to a position where he could see right into the camp. A clear shot. He looked down at Ziva and gave her a thumbs up. She held up two fingers and then pulled out her knife and melted into the darkness. Tim took a silent breath and waited. Two minutes for her to be ready. Once he took a single shot, it would probably be too difficult to get the others. He would have to jump down from the tree and get into the fray.

He counted down and took aim at one of the men who was standing. The sentry. The guard. The one who signal the alarm. He paused and tracked in on one of the others. If he was fast enough, he could kill two before the others tracked in on what was happening.

Two minutes.

He aimed and smiled.

Then, he pulled the trigger. The sentry was down. He quickly shifted his aim to the one on the ground who was just starting to move. He pulled the trigger again but the man moved too quickly. He missed. Time to get going. Tim jumped out of the tree, ignoring the jarring pain that ran up his right leg. He ran to the clearing, pulling out his knife. He could see two unmoving shapes on the ground. Ziva was sparring with one of the men. He tracked in on Gibbs and Tony who were pulling themselves out of the fight they couldn't participate in. Tim pulled out his own knife and ran at the VC who was headed to Tony and Gibbs, either to kill them or get them moving. Tim didn't know what his plan was and he didn't care. No matter what it was, Charlie would die before he could leave the clearing.

Tim was a lot bigger than this man, probably towering over him by about a foot, but in the darkness, it was hard to keep up with him because he _was_ very fast. They struggled with each other, neither able to abandon the fight for fear of being killed. A hard hit to his wrist caused Tim's hand to spasm and he dropped his knife. He didn't waste time trying to find it. It was too dark and he still had to deal with his opponent. His enemy.

Finally, Tim's greater strength gave him an advantage. He got a hold of the man, wrapped his arm around the man's neck and squeezed...and squeezed. He wrenched the man to the side and heard the soft pop indicating that he'd snapped his neck. Tim let go of the now-dead body quickly. It fell to the ground. He straightened. Ziva was beside Gibbs and Tony.

As always happened when he had to kill someone at close quarters, Tim felt that polluted sensation. He rubbed at his arms and then pushed it away. He could deal with that later. He hurried over.

"McGee, you all right?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Been better. We're not doing any running," Gibbs said.

Tim had been afraid of that.

"Walking?"

"We can walk...with help," Tony said.

"We should move now. We cannot stay here," Ziva said.

"The mysterious Ziva, I presume?"

"Yeah. This is Ziva. Ziva, this is Tony and Gibbs. I think everything else can wait until later."

Tim leaned over and helped Gibbs stand. He leaned on Tim more than Tim had expected him to.

"Can you deal with my weight?" Tony asked Ziva.

"Lean on me and see. I am not a weakling."

They didn't linger. Tim only paused to find his knife. Then, they headed away. Tim grabbed his pack.

"You all right, McGee?" Gibbs asked softly.

"I'll live. Got some shrapnel in my leg, but nothing really."

"And what just happened here?"

Tim swallowed.

"It had to be done."

Gibbs didn't say anything else. They labored to keep moving through the night. Slow and not too quietly. The rain did cover up some of the sound. Tim's leg was aching, but he didn't say anything about it. They had to keep going as long as possible.

The limits of their endurance were reached just before sunrise. Tony's leg caught in some vines. It was his injured leg and he went down, dragging Ziva down with him.

"I think...I need a rest," Tony said in a tight voice.

"Me, too," Tim said.

"I do, now," Ziva said, getting to her feet. Even she sounded out of breath after the hours of moving through the jungle.

They moved into some thick foliage and sat heavily under the scanty protection the trees provided.

Tim leaned back against a tree trunk, feeling relieved not to be putting any pressure on his leg. ...and feeling a deep sense of relief that he and Ziva had managed to get Tony and Gibbs away. He wasn't the one left behind.

No matter what else happened, that was what mattered.

Tim barely heard Ziva say that she would take the first watch. He fell asleep very quickly.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Tony jolted to consciousness and groaned as he moved his leg. He wasn't sure exactly how bad the injury was. He just knew that it _hurt_.

"Is your injury worse?"

Tony sat up, surprised to see that it was daytime. He looked over and saw one of his rescuers.

"Ziva...that's your name, right?" he asked.

"Yes."

Ziva looked too young to be in the middle of a war in the jungles of Vietnam...but he had seen her kill two men. She was no little girl.

"So...have you discharged your duty to McGee yet?"

"He prefers to be called by his first name," Ziva said.

"What?" Tony asked.

"His name is Tim. He prefers that."

"Never said anything to me about it. What makes _you_ the expert?"

Ziva smiled slightly.

"He told me. If he did not tell you, that does not make me wrong. He is a complicated person."

Tony looked over at Tim. He was propped up against a tree, his head drooping forward. Tony could now see that Tim had a nasty gash on his head. He _must_ be tired to be still asleep.

"Yeah. He is. How do _you_ know that?"

"It is obvious. Is your leg feeling any better?"

"Nah," Tony admitted.

Ziva knelt down and pulled the shredded remains of Tony's pants out of the way. He winced as she prodded at the lacerations.

"We must clean this and cover it. Otherwise, you will get an infection. ...unless that is your intention."

"No way. Are there any first aid kits around?"

Ziva produced one out of nowhere it seemed. It looked like his own.

"Where did you get that?"

"I found it in their things. It did not look Vietnamese."

"Hey...where are you from?"

"Israel."

"Really?"

"Yes." Ziva opened the kit. "This does not look complete. Is this disinfectant?"

"Yeah."

"I cannot repair the damage, but disinfecting is important."

"Yeah."

Tony gritted his teeth as Ziva began to treat and dress his leg. No way was he going to whimper about a few little cuts and scratches in front of a woman. The process seemed to take forever, but Ziva was quick and thorough. Then, she covered his injuries with bandages.

"Hey, is the whole kit there?" Tony asked.

"The box?"

"Yeah."

"Yes. Why?"

Tony held out his hand for it. Ziva handed it over. Tony looked at it carefully and then grinned.

"Perfect."

"I do not understand."

Tony started unwinding the duct tape he had wrapped around his kit. A couple of turns and he had exposed a small space.

"What is it?"

"Duct tape!"

"Why is that perfect?" she asked.

"Because I can tape up my pants! No way am I risking leeches while we're walking through the jungle. It's raining and odds are it's going to _keep_ raining. There's way too much wet around here and I'm not exposing my tender flesh to that much water."

"Tim did not seem worried about that."

Tony smiled a little and looked at Tim again before returned to his taping. He was very proud of the fact that he'd colored the tape to be camouflaged.

"McGee is only worried about two things: staying out here and whether or not he's the one who comes out unscathed."

"I do not think so. I have seen it in his eyes. There are other things that worry him."

Tony didn't like the way the conversation was going.

"Is he hurt bad?"

"He says he is not, but he received minor wounds as well. I could not keep him from all."

"I'll bet he doesn't mind."

Ziva shrugged.

"So...are you sticking around or are you out of here?"

Ziva's face scrunched up in some confusion.

"Sticking around?"

"Are you staying here with us or are you done?"

"Tim needs my help to get back. I will not leave until I am sure that he is as safe as possible."

"You don't care about us?" Tony asked, although he smiled.

"No more than you take the time to care about every Vietnamese man or woman you see. If it was necessary, you would lay down your life for them, but otherwise, they do not even enter your thoughts. There is not time to care for everyone. I care for Tim because he saved me even against those who would have killed him."

"So you saw it all?"

"Yes. Tim hates to remember it, but what he did was something many would have trouble doing. He saved a stranger and fought against his comrades. He did not know anything about me except that I was not Vietnamese and that I claimed that I was not his enemy. He believed it and fought for me."

"Are you saying that you lied?"

"I am saying that anyone would lie in that situation. He had no way of knowing but he still stood up for me. I believe he would have done it even if I had been Vietnamese."

"Yeah, probably. The guy blushes when someone implies that he's had a date. No way would he stand by."

Tim stirred and opened his eyes. He shifted and winced as he moved his right leg.

"You all right, McGee?" Tony asked.

"Got a graze, probably some shrapnel. Nothing more than that. Hurts but I can handle it."

"Days and days of walking?" Tony pressed.

"Can _you_?" Tim retorted.

"I can if you can."

Tim smiled and carefully got to his feet. He limped as he started to walk around, but after a few steps his pace evened out.

"Can you do that, Tony?" Tim asked.

Tony grinned and then realized that Tim almost always used his given name. Gibbs switched as the occasion called for it. He had told people to call him Gibbs. Tim had never shown any interest in correcting him.

"What's up?" Tim asked when Tony didn't respond.

"Nothing."

Now was _not_ the time to be asking about preferred names. They were close to 100 miles away from Chu Lai which was essentially the closest base to them. There was a chance they'd run into a transport or a platoon that could help them, but the more likely scenario was that they had to walk almost the entire way back. With three of the four of them injured, it was unlikely that they'd make good time...especially since, while they were in the highlands, they would have to worry about running into random groups of the NVA or VC. Even when they got out of the highlands, there was no guarantee of safety.

...and it was raining.

"What do you think Gibbs will say?" Tony asked.

"About what?"

"Walking back?"

"That it's the only option we have; so why bother jawing about it."

Tim took another step and winced.

"Let's see it, McGee," Tony said.

"Ziva already bandaged it."

"And I'll bet it's been wet since then."

"That's not going to change until the rain stops or we get back to base."

"Come on, McGee. We should at least take a look at it. Ziva helped Gibbs get patched up last night. She helped me this morning."

Tim walked over and sat down. He rolled up his torn pants and pulled down his torn boot. The bandage came off showing wrinkled white skin. Typical for something that had been wet for a while.

"This isn't going to change," Tim said. "Not until we get back."

"Well, I still have some duct tape left. Tape up the tear in your boot at least."

Tim nodded and did as he was told. Then, he got to his feet again and kept walking around, trying to limber up. As he did, Gibbs woke up...or at least opened his eyes. No guarantee that he hadn't been awake the entire time.

"Hey, Gibbs. How are _you_ feeling on this lovely rainy day?" Tony asked.

Gibbs just grimaced. Ziva had helped bind his ankle to give him some extra support, but even so, it wasn't enough to have him running on it, except in a major emergency. In daylight, Gibbs looked pretty rough. They had all lucked out in terms of their injuries. The grenade's shrapnel had mostly been confined to an area near the ground, but still, it had shredded their legs pretty good.

"We cut a lovely figure, but can we preserve that and get out of here?" Tony asked.

"Eat first," Gibbs said. "We'll need what we can get."

They pulled out the meager rations. It would have to last them for a while. They all knew how to ration out what little they had. Tim had his rations. Ziva had some of her own and had also taken some from one of the men she had killed. They shared out rice, water and then got going. They were moving as quickly as they could, but it wasn't particularly fast.

They were moving almost continuously during the day and into the night. Tim and Ziva traded which they supported as they walked. The rain fell continuously and they were forced to walk through water and mud that went higher than their boots more than once. The only good thing about the rain was that it kept the mosquitos away. There were always plenty of them in supply when the rain stopped.

In short, it was a long, miserable, tiring day. Even so, they kept it up and when Gibbs finally called a halt, they were all exhausted. Even Ziva looked relieved to have the chance to rest. So far, they hadn't run into anyone and that was a good thing, but they couldn't depend on it lasting, unfortunately.

...and it didn't. The next morning, after a night of taking watches, they were forced to backtrack and go around an NVA unit. That put them off course and they walked through a small stream for about three hours to make sure that they didn't leave behind a trail. It was hard to cover a trail when three of the four people were injured. Because they had seen the NVA, they decided to keep walking through the night in spite of their exhaustion. Even Tim was limping. The problem was that he was still the most able-bodied of the three men. Ziva made no complaint at any point. She spoke very little...but then, none of them were talking much at this point.

They ran into another unit, thankfully, this one was small...because they _did_ run into them. They lucked out in taking the unit by surprise and were able to take them all out with less effort...which was good because they were all running low on energy. However, even though they were successful, it meant they were driven further out of their way. By the time they were able to head north again, they'd lost three days.

When the sun went down, they _had_ to take a break. They found a relatively secure location and then they collapsed. Tim volunteered to take the first watch and everyone was too tired to protest. They all fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was only when he was sure he was the only one awake that Tim allowed himself to feel the pain. His right leg had started throbbing constantly, but both of his feet were swelling as well. He figured it was because of the constant immersion in water and/or mud. There was nothing they could do about it given the situation; so he hadn't said anything. However, if they didn't get somewhere safe soon, he'd start being a hindrance.

It was going to be a long night.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

Gibbs was hoping that they'd find someone to give them a ride today. It was getting harder and harder to keep going. They were almost out of food, and he'd noticed that Tim was having more and more trouble being the support for himself and Tony. He hadn't asked why because, whatever was wrong, there was nothing they could do. With his sprained ankle and shrapnel wounds, Gibbs knew that he wasn't able to play that role, and Tony couldn't, either. Ziva, while able-bodied, was much smaller than the rest of them and her energy was flagging. He was interested that she had refused to leave them, no matter that it might be dangerous for her.

Tim opened his eyes but didn't move. He stared up at the trees which gave them some protection from the rain. They were all lying in mud and water, but that couldn't be helped.

"McGee," he said softly. He didn't want to wake up Ziva and Tony, both of whom were sleeping deeply.

Tim looked over at him and said nothing, but it was clear that he was in a lot of pain.

"What's wrong?"

Tim looked back up, steadfastly trying to keep himself from shedding any tears. For Tim to come even _close_ to crying was indicative of how much pain he must be in right now. Gibbs let him control himself.

"My...feet are swelling...and my right leg hurts. Can't do anything about it, but it's getting worse. Much worse."

"Can you walk?"

"Yes...because I have to." Tim wouldn't make eye contact. "If I didn't have to...I wouldn't. Can we not talk about it?"

Gibbs could understand that. The more he focused on it, the harder it would be to ignore the pain.

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

When Tony and Ziva woke up, they ate a little bit, drank some water and then went on their way. Tim was very careful getting to his feet. Gibbs let him walk around a little and when it was time to move out, Gibbs put as little weight on Tim's shoulders as he could, but he had to lean on him. He couldn't put much weight on his ankle and both of his legs ached. He didn't know if Tim's legs were worse, but neither of them were great.

They moved out, and as Tim had said, he could do it because he had to.

But it was hard-won progress. Tim was shaking a little. Tony and Ziva were both tired. Tony was hurting.

But they had to keep moving.

No matter what.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Days of avoiding a VC unit that had more than likely been sent out after them...and Tim was hitting his limits of endurance. He got up, took a step and collapsed, groaning. He had spent most of their rest period with his feet propped up, in the hopes of reducing the swelling. If he took off his boots, it might help, but he wouldn't be able to put them back on and there was a long march still to go. They had been forced to backtrack again, and now, they were heading east. It would be at least one more day if they didn't find anyone to give them a ride.

Ziva had been watching him, and she had known this was coming, even if she wasn't sure when it would occur. She made sure that Tony was balanced and then hurried over to him. Tim had rolled onto his back and was letting the rain pelt his face. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Tim, can you still walk?" she asked. While she was definitely concerned about _him_, at the moment, they needed to keep moving and if Tim couldn't walk...

"I can if the...only option is to be left behind," Tim said through clenched teeth. "Just...give me a minute."

Tony and Gibbs waited without comment. What was there to say? They couldn't help Tim, and they needed to keep moving. If they couldn't get back to base in the next day or so, they'd all be in dire straits...and Ziva knew that she herself couldn't keep up the pace supporting another person for days on end. The distance that they could have covered in a week if they had been uninjured had already taken more than two.

"Okay..." Tim said after a few minutes. "Could you help me get up, Ziva?"

Ziva nodded. She put out her hand. Tim took hold of it and began to lever himself to his feet. When he was upright, he leaned on her for a moment. His face was pale and he was trembling from the pain of his swollen feet, but after another minute, he took his first faltering steps under his own steam. Ziva could tell that they'd be walking very slowly today. Tony and Gibbs were both silent, watching Tim's pace. They were all thinking the same thing.

_How much longer can we do this?_

"Okay...who am I supporting today?" Tim asked.

Ziva looked at Tony and Gibbs and raised an eyebrow. Which one would really be better? Tony took the initiative.

"It'd better be Gibbs. I don't think I'm going to be doing much better than you, McGee...and my feet aren't as swollen as yours."

Tim just nodded and walked over to Gibbs.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Are you?"

"No, but it's only going to get worse, not better. Might as well keep going. We don't have any other choice."

Gibbs nodded. He got to his feet on his own and Ziva could tell that he was trying not to put much weight on Tim's shoulders. Regardless, as she helped Tony up and felt how much of _his_ weight she was supporting, she knew that today might be the last day they could realistically make any progress.

They started walking.

Very slowly. Ziva and Tony got further ahead of Tim and Gibbs, but they didn't ever lose sight of each other.

"We may not make it," Tony said, unnecessarily. "I feel like my legs are going to fall off. McGee acts like his _wishes_ his feet would fall off, and Gibbs...the fact that he's willing to lean at all says how much _he_ must be hurting. You going to stick around for that?"

"I will not leave until you are all safe."

"But mostly McGee, right?"

"He will not leave until you are safe; so the end result is the same."

"If McGee were to die, would you leave us behind?" Tony pressed.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because...I am literally leaning on you. Gibbs and I...we're doing our best, but neither of us are really in a good state for walking and that's only going to get worse. It'd be nice to know that the person I'm leaning on isn't going to suddenly walk away and let me fall."

Ziva paused and looked back. Tim and Gibbs had fallen behind.

"I will not let you fall."

Tony smiled a little. "I believe you. I can see why McGee believed you. Your eyes make me want to."

"Is that flirting?"

"Believe it or not, no. I just think you look honest."

Suddenly, Tony looked ahead of them.

"Did you hear that?"

Ziva listened. People approaching. At least five, possibly more.

As much as they didn't want to have to move quickly, it was necessary. They couldn't take the chance of an altercation with the enemy. Not now.

They turned around and moved back to Tim and Gibbs. They moved into the trees. Tony and Gibbs sank to the ground, but Tim, in spite of his pain, leaned against a tree. Ziva rather thought that it was because he didn't think he could get up again if he sat down.

"We need to see who it is. Maybe we can finally luck out and get someone on _our_ side," Tony said.

"Yeah, right," Tim muttered.

But they did need to see who it was.

"Ziva...can you give me a bit of a boost?"

"I can go by myself. I know what Americans look like."

"But if it's someone on our side...they may not trust you."

"Very well."

Ziva wanted to walk without having someone leaning on her, but she could see the truth in Tim's statement. Tim leaned on her and they made faster progress.

They got to a secure vantage point and waited. A group of Marines came into view.

"Sacks," Tim said sounding more relieved than Ziva had ever heard.

"You know them?"

"Yeah. They're from Chu Lai."

"Sergeant Sacks!" Tim called out.

The man in front stopped and looked around, weapon at the ready.

"Let's go," Tim said, urging Ziva forward.

Ziva helped Tim get out into the open. They met up with the squad of ten men.

"Sergeant," Tim said again.

"McGee," Sacks said in surprise. "Where did you come from? And what _happened_? You look like crap."

"I'm sure I do. I feel that way."

"Where are the others? Tony? Gibbs?"

"They're alive. We didn't know who it was and we got them hidden first. None of us are moving very well right now."

Sacks looked at Ziva and raised an eyebrow.

"This is Ziva. She's a... She's helped me out a few times," Tim said.

Ziva almost laughed at how Tim stumbled over describing her.

"Okay. Man, I have to tell you that most of us had assumed you guys were goners."

"We almost were."

"Looks like it."

"We're not going to make it back to Chu Lai on foot. Is there any way you could help us out there?" Tim asked.

Ziva was impressed that Tim managed to keep his voice from shaking.

"Absolutely," Sacks said. "Take me over to Gibbs and DiNozzo and let me see their status. We'll make a report."

"Right."

Tim turned with Ziva and led them back through the trees to where Gibbs and Tony were sitting on the ground. They pulled out their guns at the sound of approach.

"Who was it, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Sacks!" Tony said. "I never thought I'd be _happy_ to see you."

"Same here, DiNozzo," Sacks said. "Injuries?"

"Galore from the waist down," Tony said. "We all got hit with shrapnel. It's infected, and I'm sure we've got the metal embedded. Wouldn't have been too serious if we could have got back to base sooner."

"Sprained ankle, plus the shrapnel," Gibbs said. "We're all having trouble with our feet swelling. We've been in water the whole time. Not a day without rain."

"Right. We'll radio back to Chu Lai. You're about thirty klicks away, and they'll get you back."

"Sounds wonderful," Tony said. "We're running out of steam."

"Success?"

"Yeah. Success."

"Okay." Sacks looked back at his squad. "We may have to backtrack a little bit to get in range, but we'll radio for transport back to base."

Only when he'd heard that did Tim sink to the ground.

"You have no idea how great that sounds," he said. "We've been dodging a group of Charlies for days."

"I'm getting an idea. We'll take up protective positions until we can get you guys out."

Tim nodded. After Sacks' squad deployed around them, Ziva knelt down beside Tim.

"You seem to be safe now...at least as safe as you can be."

"Yeah."

"Perhaps, it would be best if I leave now."

Tim shook his head.

"No, it wouldn't."

"But you no longer need my help."

"Not for this, but there's that camp. They need to know where it is. Your account would really help."

"It could be dangerous for me to be seen."

"We'll keep you out of sight and get you out." Tim took her hand. "Please...don't go yet."

"Why, Tim? Why do you want me to stay?"

"I don't know if I could put it in words. I just don't want you to leave yet."

"Is that a proposition?" Ziva asked with a grin.

Tim blushed. "No. ...just a...a gut feeling."

Ziva stopped teasing him and she nodded.

"Very well. I will come with you, but I have my own tasks to accomplish. I cannot stay for long."

"I understand."

They waited for a few hours and then, they heard the welcome sound of rotors. A helicopter. No more walking...except to get into the chopper.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The trip back to Chu Lai was wonderful. A helicopter. Tim didn't even care how much jarring he felt from it. They weren't in the rain. They weren't walking. They weren't worrying about running into the VC.

He couldn't explain why he wanted Ziva there. Maybe it was because she seemed like a friend. She had risked so much to save him. Considering how he had met her, it was nice to have interactions with her that didn't revolve around death.

And she was someone who wasn't predisposed to think this was his fault.

And if she could make some links here, then maybe she'd have an easier time of it while she was in Vietnam.

Whatever the reason, Tim was glad she had come along.

As the chopper descended, Tim suddenly realized that they would need to report in. If they had been written off as casualties, it would be a good idea to disabuse the brass of that notion.

"Do you want me to report in, Gibbs?" he asked, almost shouting over the sound of the helicopter.

Gibbs laughed at him.

"No! We're going to get checked out, first!"

"But they'll need to know that we're back!"

"They'll already know about it! None of us are walking anywhere until we know how serious the injuries are! ...and that's an order, McGee!"

Tim nodded, flushing a little bit. He hadn't intended to sound belligerent, but it was hard to speak quietly and be heard. He'd follow orders.

"Besides, no way is Ducky letting us get away!" Tony added. "We get to relax, McGee! Enjoy it!"

Tim nodded again, but for some reason, he couldn't help feeling really nervous. They touched down and were helped off the chopper.

"Welcome back!" Ducky said. "I'm relieved to see that you all survived!"

"We're thrilled, Ducky!" Tony shouted back and then nearly collapsed against the medic who was supporting him. "How about we get someplace where we don't have to walk anymore?"

"Absolutely! Let's go!"

They were ushered to the medical building, and Abby came to help.

"Ah, Abigail. You have excellent timing. Could you tend to Timothy here whilst I see to Jethro and Anthony?"

"Absolutely, Duck man!" She grinned at Tony who was mock-pouting. "I'm so glad you guys are alive!"

"We are, too, Abby," Tony said. "You can come and visit me later. Hint, hint?"

"Of course I will, Tony...after I _visit_ Tim."

Tim blushed.

Ducky ushered Gibbs and Tony to some exam beds. Ziva stayed with Tim. She smiled at Abby and seemed content to settle back and wait.

"Okay, Tim. Let's get those boots off, okay?"

"Okay."

Abby rolled up Tim's pants and then loosened the laces. Tim felt some twinges, but it was nothing compared to when Abby thought she'd loosened them enough and was trying to pull off his boots. Tim managed _not_ to scream but he couldn't suppress a groan. He tensed up and tried to move away from the source of the pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tim! Your feet must be swollen more than I thought. I'll have to cut your boots off. Just let me get a knife."

Ziva pulled a knife from its hiding place on her waist. She held it out to Abby.

"Will this do?"

Abby's eyes widened.

"Whoa. That's a scary knife."

Ziva smiled. "It is effective."

"I'm sure. ...uh...do _you_ want to do it?"

"I will."

Abby gestured and Tim stared steadfastly at the ceiling while Ziva cut his boots to ribbons and eased them off as gently as possible. It still hurt. She then cut off his socks and Abby made a sound of dismay.

"Oh...Tim..."

"What is it?"

"It's bad. Uh...I'm going to need Ducky to look at this. It's nothing like I've seen so far."

Tim sat up a little.

"Oh, come on!" he protested. "This kind of swelling is way too common."

"It's not the swelling, Tim," Abby said in a low voice. "It's...jungle rot."

"Okay...but that's still..."

Abby shook her head and walked over to Ducky where she spoke to him softly. Tim watched and then sat up all the way.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked Ziva.

"It looks...bad."

Tim looked at his right leg. There was a large patch of ulcerated skin. It did look bad. The skin around it was white and swollen. The ulcer itself was almost shocking. He'd heard of jungle rot before, had even had a couple of minor cases of it during his service, but nothing like this. It was...kind of disgusting.

"I guess that's why it hurts so much."

"Yes. That would seem to be logical."

"I hope it's not as bad as it looks."

Ziva nodded. She walked back around the bed and sat beside him.

"You are afraid?"

"Yeah. A little bit."

"I understand."

Ducky came over, then, leaving Abby to tend to Tony. There were other nurses over there.

"I hear that your situation is a little more serious than Abigail expected," Ducky said.

"I guess so."

"All right. Let me have a look."

Ducky poked and prodded at Tim's feet. It was painful, but Tim said nothing. He just waited to hear the verdict. Instead of focusing only on Tim's feet, Ducky also took Tim's temperature and his blood pressure. He _tsk_-ed a few times but didn't speak as he continued his examination.

"Dr. Mallard?" he asked when Ducky said nothing.

"Yes, it is serious. We will have to take care to see just how serious it is. For now, I will get you on some antibiotics to counteract the infection. The edema is severe, but that will resolve itself in a few days, based on my experience. The swelling is from the constant wetness. It is unfortunate that you were unable to dry them out, but I understand the reason. It's difficult to take that time when running for your life."

"Hobbling is more like it," Tim said.

Ducky smiled.

"I'm sure. You have a bit of a fever as well. With how bad this ulcer is...I can't imagine that its origin is your recent injury, although that may have contributed based on the location of the eruption. Any small scratch can let in the bacteria that cause jungle rot, but it takes time to proliferate. This is a serious infection."

"What does that mean?"

"Just what I said. We'll start treatment and evaluate again in another day or two."

"What about Tony and Gibbs?"

"Anthony is going to have to deal with getting the substantial shrapnel removed. It will be painful, but not life-threatening. Jethro will have to take time to let his ankle heal. The sprain was worsened by the fact that he had to walk on it. All three of you will be in the hospital for a few days at least, but seeing this, I believe you will have to stay longer."

"Okay."

Ducky smiled, clearly hearing Tim's unexpressed fear.

"Don't fret, Timothy. I'm quite certain you will heal. It may take time and it will undoubtably be somewhat painful, but recovery is probable. I'll be right back with an IV for the antibiotics."

Tim nodded.

"You will recover, Tim," Ziva said.

"How can you be sure of that?"

"Because you are too stubborn to do anything else," she said with a smile.

Tim couldn't help but smile back.

"Thanks."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Later that evening, Ducky sat down beside Gibbs' bed. Tony was dead asleep. Tim was as well.

"Jethro," Ducky said softly.

Gibbs opened his eyes.

"What?"

"Hush. I don't want to wake anyone."

Gibbs sat up and looked at Ducky suspiciously.

"What?"

"I would like to speak to you about Timothy."

"Why?"

"I think the time has come to rethink the current course."

Gibbs blinked a few times and settled back.

"Explain."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Over the next few days, Tony and Gibbs were released from the hospital, but they weren't on active duty. Gibbs was actually on crutches and Tony was limping. Tim was still confined to his bed. His edema was worse than Tony's and Gibbs' for some reason. He had been in the water for the same amount of time, but Ducky thought that it was possible his additional infection could be delaying the healing time.

Ziva stayed close by Tim, showing little interest in getting away from the base. The only time she'd left him was when there had been a request that she share what she knew. Tim had wanted to be there with her, to give some moral support, but he wasn't permitted. She returned after giving her report, even though all her tasks had been completed and there was no reason for her to stay. They didn't address that. Instead, the two of them talked which distracted Tim from the pain he still felt.

When Gibbs was called to make his report on what they had done, he got Ducky to come with him. He hadn't forgotten what Ducky had told him, and when he saw Tim, lying in bed, speaking with Ziva, what he saw in the man who'd served for nearly four years convinced him that Ducky was right. They walked slowly to headquarters and Gibbs reported in. He was sent into the office.

"Gunny, they said that Dr. Mallard was here as well?"

"Yes, at my request."

Major Morrow looked surprised, but he nodded.

"Very well. Make your report...and I'll say that I'm glad you three were able to get back."

"So am I."

Morrow smiled and gestured for Gibbs to sit. He did so willingly. He would be glad when he was back to normal, but he wasn't too proud to pretend that he didn't need some extra help.

"Thank you, sir. We started working our way west..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony heard voices as he came into the ward.

"Sometimes, I forget Israel. I have been here so long that it feels as though this is all there is," Ziva said. "I thought, when I first came here, that I would enjoy the rain, the green. It does rain in Israel, but you do not have to go far to find desert and dry. Here...it seems the only time that it is not raining is when the air is so thick that it is hard to breathe."

"Yeah, I agree. I'm from the East Coast in the States, and we had a lot of humidity. I thought I'd be used to it, but I wasn't. At least there it cools off in the winter. I used to complain about the snow. I won't now. If I ever get back there, I'm going to go out on the first snowstorm and build a snowman."

Ziva smiled, almost wistfully. "I remember building snowmen when I was young. We got snow in the winter. I loved to play in the snow. In Tel Aviv, it is hot and dry in the summer and spring and cool and rainy in the winter. It is not what I was used to."

"Hey, you two, is three a crowd?"

Tim craned to see around Ziva. His legs were still propped up and he was still on an IV. It made it hard to shift position.

"Hey, Tony," he said with a smile. "Come on over. We're just commiserating about the weather."

Tony laughed and limped to an empty bed. He sat down.

"That's like complaining about breathing. The weather is always going to be awful here. I came to the conclusion a long time ago that the weather in Vietnam is trying to kill us. The best way to get back at it is to flip it off by _not_ complaining."

Tim laughed.

"I don't think the weather is listening."

"That's what _you_ think."

"Where are you from, Tony?" Ziva asked.

"New York."

"Is the weather there unpleasant?"

"It can be. We'll get lots of snow in the winter. Sometimes, it gets hot in the summer, but it's nothing like here. You?"

"I was told that Tel Aviv had snow in 1950. That is all."

"Oh, you didn't grow up there?"

"No. I came from...Europe. My family moved there when I was twelve."

"So...how much longer are you sticking around here? You seemed worried about it before, but you don't seem to mind now. ...and I don't think McGee here minds much, either."

Tim flushed giving some much needed color to his pale face.

"Oh, I forgot. You got a couple of letters, McGee," Tony said.

"Really? More than one?"

"Yeah." He pulled the letters out of his pocket. "One from your sister and one from your mom. Nothing from your dad."

"Dad rarely has much to say. Mom usually passes on anything from him," Tim said. He took the letters.

"My dad doesn't, either, but he'll still write sometimes."

"You said he sent you Playboy magazines."

"Well, yeah, but he'll usually say something...even if it's only a page recommendation."

Tim rolled his eyes and opened the letters. He opened Sarah's first and smiled.

"I can't believe that Sarah is old enough to be thinking about college," Tim said a little wistfully. He hadn't seen her in a long time. She'd be almost a stranger to him.

"She is your sister?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. She's looking at some of the schools in DC. She says that she wants be where the important decisions are made."

"Well, I guess you'll have to get a job there when you finish your MIT junk," Tony said. "Then, you can keep your eye on her. I saw those pictures your mom sent. Your sister is a babe."

"Hey! That's my little sister you're talking about, DiNozzo. Watch your mouth."

Tony just grinned impudently. Tim shook his head and opened his other letter. Then, he paused.

"I don't have to do this right now. I'm sorry. I was just excited to see what Sarah had to say."

"I do not mind," Ziva said. "It is something you enjoy."

Tim smiled his thanks and read the letter...but his smile faded.

"What's wrong, McGee?"

"Mom says that Sarah's been having some trouble at school...because of the war. One of her teachers kicked her out of class when she got mad about something someone said about...about me."

"Ah, that's too bad," Tony said. "You'd think that they could appreciate what we're doing out here even if they don't agree with it."

"Yeah. Dad added a note about some protests. People bombed offices in New York City. It's happened a few times. All about stopping the war." He looked up from the letter. "People seem to hate us. ...and he just found out about My Lai."

Tony grimaced. Scuttlebutt had passed around a lot of what was going on with that, but it was too bad that it was probably all anyone would ever know about Vietnam. He couldn't help wondering how many people who would attack them for My Lai knew about what the Viet Cong and NVA had done at Hue. Probably very few. They weren't interested in knowing what the enemy was doing that prompted interventions. It was all about attacking the U.S. military.

"Sorry, McGee."

Tim folded the letter with finalty.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. You weren't involved. Neither was I. We just have to do the best we can."

"You have," Ziva said. "You already have."

Tim shook his head. "I've already told you that you don't need to think about that as some great thing."

"But it is, McGee," Tony said. "You went against your entire squad to save her."

"And I am grateful for it."

Tim shook his head again. "No, it's just what had to be done. It's not enough to counteract all this crap."

"Is that the only reason you're doing everything? For public perception?"

Tim shrugged. Tony could see that natural reticence. Tim didn't like revealing his innermost thoughts. It took a lot to get him to share. Too much time here? Or did it predate his military service? Tony would guess that Tim was generally a loner.

"You shouldn't go about it that way, McGee," Tony said. "You do your best and tell the people who accuse you of something else to go scratch."

"Easy to say."

"Two words. Two syllables. Even _I_ can handle that, McGee."

Tim smiled. Ziva put her hand on his arm.

"I chose to stay to see that you recovered," she said. "Because I care about you, Tim. You saved my life and that gave me a debt to repay. But more than that...we are connected. Even when we leave this place and return to our homes. We have a connection because of what you did for me. It is not so simple to say that it is what needed to be done. It did, but not everyone would have done it. Even good men would not."

"And Gibbs and I are lucky to have you on our team. Don't forget that."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs had given the entire report of their mission, including numerous commendations to Tim and Tony both for their work and their endurance. Tim had been a good sniper. He had risked his life to save them. Tony had been the one who found the sniper group in the first place and he had taken the bulk of the shrapnel when the grenade went off.

"So...what do you need now?" Morrow asked. "I'm assuming that you didn't invite Dr. Mallard along for nothing."

"No. I'd like to have him come in and explain what he told me already."

"Very well. I'll get him. You can stay down, Gunny."

Morrow walked to his door and opened it.

"Dr. Mallard, please come in."

Ducky came in and sat down.

"Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs said you had something you wanted to tell me. What is it about?"

"It's about Corporal McGee."

"In what respect? I was under the impression that you were recovering," Morrow said, looking at Gibbs again.

"We are."

"Then, what is it?"

"Timothy... Corporal McGee will recover within the thirty-day evacuation limit."

"Good."

"I think he should be sent home anyway."

"Why?"

Ducky leaned forward, extremely earnest.

"Corporal McGee is not well. His edema is taking longer to resolve itself than it should. The jungle rot will require surgery which could be done here, I admit. Beyond that, there is...this is going to sound more fuzzy than it is. I've been a doctor for a long time. When you have the experience with it, you get a feel for your patients. He has something more wrong with him than those injuries. It may be something as simple being rundown to the point that his body cannot recover as easily. Regardless, Corporal McGee is not a well man and I doubt that he will fully recover out here."

"Why not? Many do."

"And many do not. They continue to fight to the best of their ability until they can no longer perform up to standards and, more often than not, they are seriously injured or killed because they can't keep up."

"Corporal McGee is asking to go home?" Morrow asked.

"No! In fact, he will resist being sent back. He doesn't want to go...or rather, he's afraid to go. But I truly believe that this is what he _needs_."

"When does his tour of duty end?"

"He has another month," Gibbs said.

"I know that you're beginning to reduce the number of Marines out here. I know that the higher-ups are heading toward a complete withdrawal. Corporal McGee can be part of that. The medical staff is already being reduced. It would not be seen as favoring one man at the expense of others."

Morrow sat back and considered. He didn't rush into making decisions.

"Why does Corporal McGee want to stay here so strongly, even against what he needs, as you say?"

Ducky looked at Gibbs.

"McGee's father is against him serving."

"His father?"

"Admiral John McGee. Served honorably in Korea."

"And he was against his son serving?"

"In Vietnam. He threatened to disown McGee if he came back before the war was over."

Morrow's eyes widened and he nodded.

"And you think that he should leave in spite of that injunction?"

"I do. If he were given an honorable discharge...which he deserves for the work he's done."

"Some might question an honorable discharge."

"Would you?" Ducky asked.

Gibbs was surprised at Ducky's persistence. He was normally very respectful of the military hierarchy. His determination to do what he could to help Tim was driving his reaction.

"No, I wouldn't. In spite of the fact that he lied. I understand the many reasons why he did. Given some of the fallout of other less-than-honorable events out here, there's no guarantee that he wouldn't be punished for trying to be the good guy."

"I believe that Corporal McGee would be afraid of rejection but I don't think he would get it, not after close to four years of service. He was injured and is part of the draw down."

"Do you think that he should receive treatment here and then be sent back?"

"Yes, simply because there's no reason to prolong his pain longer than is necessary."

"I see."

"Major Morrow, I realize that you have many men to worry about here. I have a lot of patients, but I feel that Corporal McGee cannot and should not be lost in the shuffle of running things here. He is a good man who is doing his best to serve his country, to do the right thing _and_ to fulfill the expectations of his father. In all of this, he has lost sight of himself. His neglect of himself is beginning wear on him. This is the chance to stop that neglect and get him out of a place that is...if you'll pardon my melodrama...slowly killing him."

"Gunny?"

"Ducky's told me all this, and I've thought from the beginning that he shouldn't be out here, but I allowed it because he was doing good work and it was what he wanted. I agree that it's better for him to be out of here."

"Do you feel that way about yourself or Corporal DiNozzo?"

"I can't speak for DiNozzo, sir, but he's adjusted to being out here. He's not serving under threat. Neither am I."

"True. So you agree with Dr. Mallard?"

"I do."

"And you're sure that Corporal McGee will _not_ agree?"

"Positive."

Morrow began to muse aloud. "One month left on his current tour. Current injury. Possible hidden damage, perhaps psychological in nature?"

"Perhaps," Ducky said.

"And multiple recommendations for honorable discharge."

Gibbs waited. He trusted Morrow, having served under him for years. There was a lot for him to consider. Everything he knew about Tim, his previous experience with Marines in various states, the knowledge that in another year or so there would be few Marines left in Vietnam if the current course continued. It was a lot to consider.

"How would he take a discharge?"

"Badly," Gibbs said.

"Very badly," Ducky said.

"You like making my life difficult, don't you, Gunny."

Gibbs smiled. "Keeps you on your toes, sir."

"Yes, it does. All right. I've come to a decision."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Tony had gone and Abby had come and persuaded Ziva to get out of the hospital for a little while. Tim was happy for the solitude. He liked company, but the chance to be alone was not something he got very often. He hated the pain from his still aching feet and from his ulcerated skin. They were managing it, but it was unpleasant at best.

"Timothy, may we interrupt your reverie?"

Tim looked over. He smiled.

"Hey, Ducky...Gibbs. I'm not doing much right now."

"You're still rather pale."

"Not feeling my best yet."

"Well, we have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

Gibbs sat down at skewered Tim with that look that he did so well.

"You're going home."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Tim was looking back and forth, his eyes begging them to be kidding.

"No."

"Yes, McGee. It's time to go."

"No!"

Gibbs could see the words on the edge of Tim's lips. He reached out and gave Tim a swat on the back of the head.

"Don't even _think_ about calling me _Gunnery Sergeant_, McGee."

"Why are you doing this?" Tim asked.

"Because you can't stay out here anymore, Timothy," Ducky said. "It's wearing you down."

"I'm going to be fine! You said so yourself!"

"Physically, yes."

"I'm not a wimp, Ducky," Tim said. "I've been out here for a while. I can deal with everything here."

"Too long."

"I can't go! I told you why I can't go!"

"And I'm telling you that you have to," Ducky said. "Timothy, you are not well."

"I have an infection. Of course I'm not well," Tim said, sounding angry and afraid.

"No, Timothy. You are generally unwell, and I think you are too intelligent not to be aware of it."

"It doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, you will because you're going home," Gibbs said.

Tim straightened.

"Please, Gibbs. Please...don't send me home! I'll beg if you want me to."

"McGee, you're done out here. Begging won't change anything. That's the end of it, Corporal."

Tim lay back and stared at the ceiling, unable to continue protesting against a direct order from his commanding officer. It was clear that he saw this as destroying his life.

"We're going to perform the surgery on your ankle in another day or two, Timothy," Ducky said, gently.

Tim didn't answer.

"Then, once you've recovered, you'll be sent back where you'll receive an honorable discharge. Your discharge will be part of the of the reduction in forces that's being enacted."

"You say all that like it matters," Tim said bitterly.

"It does, Timothy. There will be large numbers of men heading home soon. This is the way things are going."

"Not yet."

"No, not yet. You'll be part of the first wave."

"I was supposed to stay until the war was over."

"That's not happening," Gibbs said. "You're sick and you need to leave."

Tim closed his eyes.

"I went through all those battles, all those things, all those other people dying...and I get sent home because my feet got too wet."

"No, it's because physically and mentally, you are not in a good condition to stay. You would realize that if you weren't so focused on your father's ultimatum."

"It's _my_ family, _my_ father. You don't know him," Tim said, but he didn't open his eyes or sit up again. He just lay there, sounding defeated.

"No, I don't, but we are taking the time to be sure that there is no reason for any censure."

Tim let out a humorless laugh.

"Right. Well, you've given your wonderful news. Now, you can go and leave me alone. Might as well get used to it now."

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Gibbs almost laughed. Tim sounded nothing less than petulant in that moment.

"We'll give you some time to adjust to it," Ducky said gently. "If possible, we'll schedule the surgery for tomorrow."

"Yeah, great."

Ducky left and Gibbs started to go.

"You lied."

Gibbs turned back. Tim had opened his eyes and was staring at the ceiling again.

"About what?"

"You said that we'd all make it or we'd all fall."

"I didn't lie."

"You're sending me back. You're not going, are you."

"My tour of duty doesn't end for another year."

"That's not why you're not going back now. It's just me going. Not you. Not Tony. Just me. You lied."

"I support this because you won't make it out here, McGee, and I don't stand by and let people on my team kill themselves."

Tim said nothing. He just closed his eyes again. Gibbs stared at him for a few minutes and then went to find Tony. He was back in the barracks, on his cot, writing a letter. It was an uncommon enough occurrence that Gibbs raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Tony looked up and grinned at Gibbs' expression.

"When we were talking earlier, I realized that I hadn't talked to my dad in ages. Seemed like a good time to do our biannual letter exchange. What's up?"

"McGee's going home."

Tony sat up and set aside his letter, his eyes wide.

"What?"

"McGee's going home...as soon as he has surgery on his ankle and is ready to be transported back stateside."

"He's not happy about that."

It wasn't a question. Gibbs answered it anyway.

"No."

"I can't say that I think you're wrong, Gibbs. I don't...but McGee...he's not going to be the same way. Have you thought about what he might do?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Ziva's still here. He's the one she actually cares about. What if...he asks her to take him with her when she goes?"

"Would she do it, do you think?"

"Depends on how persuasive McGee can be. I've never seen him try to persuade someone to do something for him."

Gibbs nodded. It was a good point. He wasn't sure that Tim would actually go that route if he was worried about preserving the McGee family name, but Tim could easily put himself into a state in which he decided it was better than being sent back.

"Gibbs...is he that sick? I mean, I thought he was still really pale when I was talking to him before, but..."

"Ducky feels that he has taken too much on and is slowly getting worse. If he's right then, we'll only know that for sure when McGee breaks down and maybe gets killed because of it. It's a risk I'm not willing to take."

Tony nodded.

"He won't accept that as a good explanation. Not McGee. Not with how he feels about all this stuff."

"He hasn't, but I'll watch out for that."

"Good."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva was headed back into the hospital. She had avoided most of the base, but it had been _really_ nice to get a shower and some clean clothes.

"Ziva."

She turned.

"Yes, Gibbs?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

Gibbs' eyebrows raised and he gestured for her to follow him. She did so, feeling more than a little wary. She trusted Tim and, when they had been out there, Gibbs had been injured. Now, although he was on crutches still, he was much less inhibited than he had been. She had no doubt that he would be able to restrain her if he felt the need.

They went into an empty room.

"What do you want?"

"You afraid of me?"

"I am...unsure of you."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"What do you want, then?"

"McGee's going home as soon as we can get him out."

She felt more saddened by that news than she had expected.

"Why?"

"Because he's not well and he's not going to recover out here."

Ziva nodded slowly. She had seen that in him. Tim was someone who was, as Gibbs had said, not well. He was unstable in a way that she couldn't quite articulate.

"I agree. Will he be coming back?"

"No. He's getting an honorable discharge."

"And that means?"

"That he's out of the military and can go back to his life."

She nodded again more firmly. She liked Tim. She would miss him, but he had never seemed like the other Marines. He wasn't a career military man. He did what he felt was necessary...and he threw himself into it without a second thought. ...but that didn't mean he should keep doing so when it was no longer necessary.

"He's not happy about it."

"Yes, I see. Do you wish me to help him accept it?"

Gibbs smiled. "No. I don't think you could. He may try to get you to take him with you when you go. What would you do if he asked?"

"Ah. I see. You think I would take him away into the jungle?"

"I think he might try to persuade you to do that."

"I would not, even if he asked."

"Why not?"

Ziva smiled.

"Are you saying that I should?"

"No. I want to know your reasons."

"Because the life I lead is not the life he should lead. Perhaps _I_ should not be leading it, either, but there are things one does of necessity."

"And why is it necessary for you?"

Ziva's smile widened.

"Because of the choice I made. That is all I can tell you."

Gibbs nodded in acceptance of her secrecy.

"If he asks me, I will say no. I will stay with him until he leaves. Then, I will return to my own responsibilities. I have enjoyed this...time away from the jungle."

"How long will you be in Vietnam?"

"Until I am told that I have done my duty."

"By whom?"

"By the only person who matters. Is that everything, Gibbs?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Ziva shrugged. "If I did not agree with you, I would not hesitate to take Tim with me. You are lucky that I agree."

Gibbs smiled in reply and then stuck out his hand.

"If you need anything after Tim leaves, you can feel free to ask Tony and me."

Ziva looked at his hand for a long moment. It was a surprise to her that she had been accepted so readily even though she had hidden much of who she was.

"Thank you." She shook his hand. "I will remember that."

"Do."

Gibbs left the room and Ziva sat there alone for a few minutes. It suddenly hit her that the one person she had allowed herself to lean on in any capacity would no longer be here. She would be alone again. ...unless she allowed herself to lean on these other two men who had come into her sphere.

Then, she took a breath and left the room to go back to Tim.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim had his surgery the next morning. He was disinclined to speak to anyone and he was a bit out of it anyway from the painkillers. Ziva stayed with him, but Tim didn't say much of anything to her, either. He was preoccupied, understandably.

Near the evening, Tony came by to visit. He had decided to nip it in the bud and just address what was coming directly.

"Hey, McGee, Gibbs told me that you're heading home."

Ziva looked surprised at Tony's approach. Tim grimaced. His feet were still propped up, although the swelling had gone down noticeably. He also had a large bandage on his right ankle where they had performed the surgery to get rid of the jungle rot.

"Yeah...good news travels fast."

"McGee, I know you're not happy about it, but this is great."

"For you, it'd be great, Tony," Tim said. "It's not for me, and you already know why."

"Why assume it will go so bad?" Tony asked. "Maybe your dad has changed. It's been almost four years. ...but guess what, McGee...even if he hasn't, I'm glad you're going."

"Yeah, thanks, Tony. I thought I was part of the team."

Tim was acting sulky, but Tony knew it was, at least in part, a cover for his fear.

"You are, and I'm not looking forward to getting another piece of new meat to train up. But I don't like seeing what happens to you when we go out there. I watched when you killed that guy."

Tim looked away and stared at the ceiling.

"You _hated_ it, even though I know you hate the VC more than most of us do. You hated having to kill a person who would have killed you. You hated it as much as you hate the VC. That's going to kill you eventually, McGee, and I don't want to see that."

"I don't know why everyone seems to think that I'm going to fall apart. I've been here for almost four years. I got an infection that lots of the guys get...and suddenly, I have to leave because I'm not going to make it. I'd make it!" Tim said, looking angry. "I'm not a wimp!"

"No one said you were, McGee. ...but you hate being out here. You hate what you have to do and if it wasn't for your dad being a jerk you'd never have stayed for more than one tour...unless you had to...and if you had to, you'd do it and you'd be good at it. No one is saying you don't do a good job."

"But you're saying that I'm not good enough to handle it."

"No!"

"They are not saying that," Ziva said, jumping in for the first time. "They are concerned for _you_ and that matters more than your father."

"Easy for you to say," Tim said. "You'll be leaving and going back to whatever it is that you're doing. You're not being forced to go where you don't want to go."

Ziva looked at Tony.

"Except that this is not the case for you. You are being forced to stay where you do not want to be, but your fear is keeping you here. It is wrong that you are keeping yourself here."

"I'm tired, guys. I'm not in the mood for this."

"All right, McGee. I'm glad the surgery went like it was supposed to."

"Me, too," Tim said, almost grudgingly.

He closed his eyes.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs woke up suddenly in the night, not sure why. It wasn't because of the rain on the roof. He was used to that, even found it soothing. But he'd long since learned to trust his gut. If he was awake, there was a reason. He grabbed his crutches and headed for the hospital. Tim was the most worrying sector right now.

When he got there, before he could step inside, there was a voice.

"I'm right here, Gibbs."

Gibbs looked over. Tim had pulled a chair from somewhere out to the front of the hospital, under the awning which gave him some protection from the rain. He was sitting motionless. Gibbs didn't waste time wondering how Tim had got by Ziva, how he'd managed to get out. He crutched over to Tim.

"Where did you get the chair?" he asked.

"There were a few of them by the door. I just grabbed one."

Gibbs went inside, found a chair and, abandoning one of his crutches, pulled it out beside Tim. He sat down.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Wishing that I could disobey orders. Wishing that there was a way out of this Catch-22. You're making me leave. If I go home, my dad will disown me. If I sneak away here, I'll be going UA and will be dishonoring my family name."

"It doesn't have to be that bad."

"Doesn't have to be, but that doesn't mean it won't be." Tim wasn't looking at Gibbs. "But that's not all it is."

"What else?" Gibbs asked, interested that Tim would admit to something more.

"I'm scared to go back. I'm almost not sure I remember life that's not here. I hate it here. I'll admit it, but at least I know what to expect. People not trusting me, thinking that I'm a jinx, getting sent out on missions where I could die, where others could die, where I'll have to kill people. I don't know what I'll see back there."

"Life. That's what's back there. May not be easy, but it's there."

"Then, why aren't you going back?"

"Not ready to yet, but no one is forcing me to stay, McGee. I made the choice without anything or anyone forcing me. When I'm ready, I'll go back without anything threatening me."

"You gave me an order, Gibbs. I'll obey it."

Gibbs could hear the resignation. Tim wasn't happy about it. He had no hope of things working out, but he would do as he was told...because that's the kind of person he was. He could at least give him something else to think about.

"If things work out the way _you_ think they will, you don't have to give up. My dad lives in Stillwater, in Pennsylvania. You need a place to stay, Jack will put you up for as long as you need."

Tim nodded mutely.

They sat there watching the rain in silence.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Tim was sent to Da Nang three days later, in January 1970. Ziva went with him and then didn't return to Chu Lai. Gibbs double-checked to make sure that Tim had been _on_ the plane when it took off. He had. In a way, it was a relief that Tim would finally be getting out of this place. ...but at the same time, Tony knew that he'd miss the guy. Besides, Tim had saved his life at least twice if not more. It just didn't seem fair that he was going back so depressed.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. So after hearing that Tim really was gone, he went to the mess hall and found some of the regular guys. They gestured for him to join them. Having nothing better to do, he did.

"How's it going, DiNozzo?" Sacks asked.

"Got some time off. I'm feeling great," Tony said with his usual jaunty smile.

"I heard McGee was headed back."

"Yeah. Just flew out today."

"About time," someone said from behind Tony.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, turning around and get up.

"The guy was trouble for everyone near him. Funny how he conveniently got his million-dollar wound right now, isn't it?"

Tony was a roll-with-the-punches guy. He didn't take anything too seriously and so he rarely got riled up about anything. ...but for almost the first time in his life, he felt the fire between his ears. Knowing, as he did, how much trouble Tim had faced in coming here and then the struggles he'd had in staying. Knowing that Tim had saved his life...he grabbed the offending Marine by the shirt and slammed him against the wall of the mess.

"McGee saved my life more than once. You have _no_ idea what he's done and why he's done it. He is ten times the man you are and if you say one more word about him I will beat the crap out of you. You'll go home in a glad bag. Got it?"

"Hey, DiNozzo, cool it, man," Sacks said, pulling Tony back. "He's not worth getting a reprimand over."

Tony glared at the Marine and then let him go. He momentarily had the attention of everyone in the mess.

"That goes for everyone in here. You want to get your own free trip back to the world? I'll help you out if you say one word against McGee. I don't care who you are. I don't care if I'm still limping. You keep your mouth shut."

Tony looked around the mess. He knew that he'd surprised the people who thought they knew him. Tony didn't get upset about things, but he was upset now. He'd finished his rant and his legs were hurting him. So he limped back to the table and sat down. After a few minutes, the sound level was back up to normal.

"Didn't know you actually had a temper, DiNozzo," Sacks said.

"I do...and I don't want anyone putting him down, not after he saved my life."

"Won't hear it from me," Sacks said. "I was impressed that he was walking at all the way he was moving out there."

"Good."

Tony looked at his plate and went back to eating. When he went back to the barracks later, Gibbs was there. He looked up.

"Heard you got noisy."

"If he'd said something else, I'd have punched him out and felt good about it."

"Sounds like he deserved it."

"He did."

"You ever think about going home?"

"Nope. Not yet."

Gibbs just nodded.

"We'll be getting someone new in a couple of weeks."

"Yeah. Haven't really had to for a while. I'm going to miss McGee."

"Me, too."

"You think he'll write?"

"Don't know."

"Probably not. Not much anyway."

"Yeah."

"This kind of sucks, Gibbs."

Gibbs smiled.

"Yeah."

"You still think that this was the best thing for him?"

"Yes. I do. He should have gone home a long time ago."

"He wouldn't agree."

"Yeah, I know."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Dear family,_

_You'd never guess where I'm at right now and I don't think I could describe it and give it justice. I got some jungle rot. I gotta say that it's no fun. I don't recommend that you try to find out more about it. It's not serious. It's just gross. I should be back to normal in another week or so._

_I just realized that Sarah will be going to college soon. You need to tell me all about it. Where you're going, what colleges you've picked out. Stuff like that._

_I really miss you all._

_Tim_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It took almost a month for Tim to recover from his surgery and then get his honorable discharge. After that, he left and didn't really know what to do with himself. He made his way from Camp Lejeune up to DC, thinking vaguely about what Sarah had written about being near the people who make all the decisions. It was kind of cold. Not really cold enough for it to snow, but Tim had been in a place without any real winter for years and he wasn't used to it anymore. He was bundled up against the cold.

He saw anti-war protesters. He avoided them.

Then, he saw it.

A poster.

It was a picture of a bunch of dead people, lying in a ditch. Vietnamese people. In Vietnam. He recognized the place. It had only four words on it: _And babies? And babies._ Tim didn't know the context of the words, but he understood what was being said even without it. He'd heard the protesters shouting it.

Baby killers.

That's what they said he was.

A baby killer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Dear Gibbs and Tony,_

_This seems like a different world. It's cold. I don't really know what to do with myself right now. I wish I could go back to Vietnam...which is funny because, yes, I hated it there. It might be worse here right now. At least as a Marine. Or a former Marine. I guess I'm not a Marine anymore. It's weird not being a Marine, now._

_I'm not sure where I'm going next. Don't bother writing back. I don't know what address to give you right now._

_If you see Ziva, tell her thanks for everything. I hope you'll keep an eye out for her. I think she needs friends._

_McGee_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I give you a clean bill of health, Anthony. Congratulations," Ducky said.

"Excellent. Don't tell anyone, but I was getting bored."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Tony started to get up and then he sat down again.

"How long will you stay out here, Ducky?" he asked.

"As long as I'm needed. I have a full life behind me. Anything that comes up later will be a bonus. Why do you ask?"

"I can't figure out what I'm going to do. We got a letter from McGee. He doesn't seem very happy. He seems a little lost and he didn't really tell us anything about what he was doing. I'm wondering if we should have given him more time to figure out what he was going to do."

"Perhaps, but I'm not sure he would have done anything differently. It was a difficult situation."

"Yeah."

"Was there anything else?"

"Nah. Thanks."

Tony got off the exam table and spied Abby. He waved and she smiled at him.

"I think I'll go and forget my sorrows."

"From what I understand, Abigail has been very willing to help in that regard."

Tony grinned.

"You better believe it. She's from New Orleans, you know. Celebrated Mardi Gras at its best."

Ducky smiled and shooed Tony away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Dear Dr. Mallard,_

_I thought I'd let you know that I've healed up fine. My feet are their normal sizes, and the jungle rot has resolved. No recurrence and the doc here doesn't think it'll turn into a chronic case. I'm glad. If I have to be back here, I'm glad that I can walk normally._

_Tim McGee_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim didn't know how he remembered where Jim's dad lived. He and Jim had talked a lot, but it had been years since they'd exchanged family information. Still, there he was, standing on the doorstep. He had knocked on the door and there was no getting away now.

The door opened.

"Yes?"

"Hi. Mr. Nelson?"

"Yes. Who are you?" He looked a little wary.

"My name is Tim McGee. I...I served with your son. In Vietnam."

There was an instant reaction. Mr. Nelson smiled and put out his hand.

"Oh, Jim talked about you a lot in his letters home. They told me that you made sure his body got back."

Tim swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. I tried. We tried to save him, sir...but..."

"I'm sure you did. I don't blame you for not succeeding. It's a war."

Tim nodded.

Mr. Nelson looked at him carefully and then smiled again.

"Why don't you come inside for a while, son? Jim would never forgive me if I sent a friend of his away. My wife, God rest her soul, died the year before Jim joined up. My oldest daughter lives on the West Coast. My younger daughter lives in New York. I'm all alone here and it would be nice to have some company."

Tim hesitated.

"I'm being completely sincere. Come on in."

"Okay."

Tim followed Mr. Nelson into the small house.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby headed back to the nurses' quarters. It wasn't raining. It actually wasn't even cloudy. She looked up and saw the stars. They were lovely. It was almost possible to forget where she was and what she'd seen here. Her tour was almost over and with the draw down that had begun, she knew that she'd be sent home again.

She was relieved, if she were honest. The things she'd seen here... She'd never forget them. It wasn't even just the U.S. military. It was the Vietnamese civilians. Some just got sick. Others had been attacked. Then, there were the ones who innocently stepped on land mines...and survived.

No, she wouldn't regret going back, but neither did she regret coming. New Orleans would take on a whole new meaning for her. She appreciated so much more the life she'd left behind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva paused and decided to climb up a tree. She looked out over the trees and then up at the stars. She had regretted the necessity that had led her here, but she was glad that her presence had helped save Tim and his team.

But she felt lonely now without knowing that there was someone she could definitely rely on.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs and Tony got two new guys about a month after Tim left. Neither were completely new but both had taken time away and been called back into action. So both were rusty. After about a week of Gibbs putting them through the paces, they were sent out on recon. While both men kept an eye out for Ziva, neither saw any sign of her at all.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat down, took a breath and started to write.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I'm all recovered from my bout of jungle rot. Now, I can go back to complaining about the weather. Hot and rainy, as usual. Gibbs and Tony were both recovering as well, but we're all back to normal and we'll be going out on some long duties. I don't know how often I'll be able to write for the next little while. Too much to do and lots of responsibilities for us._

_Know that I'm thinking of you all._

_Tim_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The numbers were going down. Even in Chu Lai, Gibbs and Tony noticed. As 1970 wound down, they began to feel a little bit isolated in their barracks. There were no public announcements about the draw down, but it was definitely happening.

They had lost one of their new guys on a mission and the other had been transferred. It was back down to the two of them, and Morrow had told them not to expect any new additions. Their recon missions were dialed back and they were sent on sniper missions instead. It wasn't what Tony preferred, but he obeyed orders.

As time passed, they heard about the various successes and failures that had occurred both with and without U.S. participation. There was a new feeling in the air, one that neither Tony nor Gibbs acknowledged.

They were both getting tired.

They were getting near the end of their current tours and the decision was looming about whether to continue on as they had been or be part of the draw down. Abby had left a few months ago, and Tony missed her and her irrepressible personality. She had written Tony loads of letters and invited him to visit her in New Orleans multiple times.

In contrast, they'd had only three or four letters from Tim, all of which had no return address and contained very little information. Tim's letters had been mostly an expression of hope that they were still safe and that they'd seen Ziva. Nothing about himself, no indication of how he was doing. ...which, in and of itself, was probably an indication.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky was carefully packing up the supplies that were left. The main hospital at Chu Lai was being reduced. The hospital in Da Nang would cover this region. Ducky himself was headed home in two more weeks. His assistant, Jimmy, had been transferred to Da Nang a few months ago. He wanted to keep helping people for as long as there were Marines and soldiers needing care. Ducky hoped to see him before he flew out.

"Getting ready to leave, Ducky?"

Ducky smiled and turned around.

"Yes, Jethro. My time has come. I always knew that there would come a moment when it was right to leave. That moment has arrived. I'm not one to fight against it."

Gibbs nodded.

"What about you?"

"Don't know yet."

"Would you be willing to take a suggestion or two from someone much older than you?"

"You're not _that_ much older than I am."

Ducky smiled. "Perhaps not."

"What is it?"

"First, you should consider the man who has been serving with you."

"What about him?"

"Anthony is staying here, in large part, because you are. He has found a place of relative stability and someone he respects commanding him. ...and he gives _you_ stability by staying. I rather think that he won't leave if you don't because of that. If you were to go, he wouldn't want to serve under anyone else."

"And the second thing?"

"Have you heard from Timothy at all?"

"Rarely and not much detail."

"I am the same, more than likely, much less than you. I would not be surprised if Timothy, regardless of his current situation, is feeling a little directionless. The only other letter I received from him contained very little information, but what it did contain was illustrative of someone who didn't know what to do. Abigail's letters from him were more detailed but still with an air of confusion and sadness. He confessed to her once that he was having difficulty setting his time spent here aside."

"And?" Gibbs asked, revealing nothing about his own thoughts.

"You are Timothy's commanding officer. You are the leader of the only team Timothy really felt a part of out here. That team might give him the stability _he_ needs."

"We can't be on the same team forever, Duck. Real life doesn't usually work that way."

"But you could start him on that path."

A non-committal grunt.

"Jethro, what are you staying here for? What is it that keeps you serving out here with no interest in going back? Unlike Timothy, I believe that you genuinely _would_ prefer to stay out here rather than return to the United States. What I don't understand is why because, unlike some of the others who have remained, you don't have that bloodthirsty streak in you."

As he expected, Gibbs didn't say anything in reply, but Ducky knew he'd been heard.

"We're headed out on a mission tomorrow. Probably won't be back before you leave. Good luck, Ducky."

Ducky smiled.

"Thank you, Jethro. Good luck to you. My mother is in a nursing home near Reston, Virginia, and I'll be going there when I get back to be near her. She's almost ninety and suffers from dementia. She won't notice whether I'm there or not, but she's the last of my immediate family. Feel free to drop by. It's been a pleasure knowing you."

He put out his hand. Gibbs shook it without hesitation.

"Likewise, Ducky."

Ducky watched Gibbs leave and then returned to his task. Such was the way things went in this place. Connections were made, friendships, and then they went back to their lives and rarely saw each other again. That wasn't always the case, but it often happened like that. And all one could do was treasure the memories.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs _had_ heard what Ducky had said and he could admit that there might be something to it, but now wasn't the time to think about it. He did make a mental note to talk to Tony about it after they got back.

So he said nothing to Tony about it. They went through their usual motions for a mission. Early the next morning, they headed out. It was typical. They had their target. Tony scouted, Gibbs was at the ready for any attacks. It wasn't raining. That was the only thing that was different, and by the look of the clouds, that wouldn't stay the case for much longer.

Sure enough, an hour later, the first drops fell, followed quickly by many, many more.

"I think I want to move to Antarctica when I'm done here, Gibbs," Tony grumbled.

"Why?"

"It's cold and it's supposed to be the driest place on the earth."

Gibbs grinned. That did sound nice. Hot and wet seemed to define Vietnam weather.

"Thought you liked Hawaii."

"I do."

Gibbs didn't reply. He focused on the ground. Before the rain washed away any sign of someone passing by, he examined what there was to see.

"A group went through here," Tony said. "But some small feet in the group."

"Family, maybe."

"Maybe. You want to follow it or go on?"

"Let's follow for now."

Tony nodded easily and they headed off after the group who was ahead of them. It was possible that they were completely innocent, but they wouldn't know if they didn't check. They walked through the pouring rain for an hour and then there were sounds in the distance.

"That's gunfire," Tony said, his voice very low.

Gibbs nodded and gestured. They increased their pace. As they got closer, they heard some screaming. Then, just more gunfire without accompanying cries.

Then, silence.

They continued on but approached the area very cautiously.

Suddenly, before Gibbs could do more than realize someone was there, a knife was at his neck.

"Speak," a voice whispered into his ear. "I will not hesitate to kill you."

That was a familiar voice for all that he hadn't heard it in nearly a year.

"Ziva?"

The knife disappeared from his neck and Gibbs turned toward the voice, Tony coming up beside him.

It was Ziva, indeed, but she looked more wild than they'd ever seen her before.

"Ziva...what's up?" Tony asked.

"What is up?" she repeated. "_That_ is up. Go and see."

She pointed vehemently in the direction they'd been heading. Then, when they didn't instantly move, she strode ahead. Tony looked at Gibbs and he nodded. They might as well see what it was that Ziva was talking about.

They followed in her path until they got to a small clearing.

There were nearly fifteen dead bodies. Some were clearly VC, but the others...

"What happened here?" Tony asked.

"The same thing that _always_ happens," Ziva said. "The same thing that will _keep_ happening. But _these_ men will never do it again."

Her voice was shaking and she was fiercely angry.

This was the one thing that they could never get used to seeing.

Dead children.

Tony walked slowly forward to where two young children lay motionless on the ground. He crouched down beside them and said nothing for a while.

"Tell us what happened," Gibbs said.

"They were fleeing," Ziva said. "They were trying to get somewhere safe where they would not be killed because of who they were. These..." She said something in another language, and Gibbs didn't bother trying to figure it out. It was clear what she meant. "They found them. They did not care that they were women and children. They killed them. I was too late to stop it, but I could keep them from killing anyone else."

Another silence. Then, Ziva stormed over to where Tony was. She picked up one of the dead children. He could only have been three or four years old. She thrust the limp body at Tony.

"Will _this_ be in your American news? Will _this_ be talked about? Will this boy's story be told? No! It will not! This happens too often for any American to care. They will focus on their protests. They will focus on other things, lines in the sand, pointing fingers. They do not care about the people here! They only care about shouting louder than the people on the opposite side of them. Should you have come to Vietnam? Who knows now? Would this little boy be alive if Americans had never answered the request for help? We will never know! All I know is that it was not Americans who killed him...but perhaps it is your fault anyway! And now, you are all going to leave and what will happen to the other Degars who have fought with you? How many more of them will be killed because you are leaving them behind? How many?"

It was only then that Gibbs saw the tears in Ziva's eyes. She had always seemed quietly confident and aware, but this showed more. He walked over, set down his gun, took the dead boy from Ziva's hands and lay him gently on the ground.

Tony had said nothing.

"Why?" Ziva asked. "Why must so many who have done nothing be killed? It is one thing to fight against those who fight back, but this... Why?"

"I can't answer the question, Ziva," Gibbs said. "There aren't answers for your questions."

"I know." She looked at the children, at the woman who had died with a baby in her arms. The blood was already soaking into the ground. "This is what I will take from my time here. I have been told that it is time for me to return home, and this is what I will see when I close my eyes for a long time."

"This is what I try _not_ to see," Tony said softly. He hadn't moved from his position. "Do you know where they came from?"

Ziva shook her head.

"No. If I had seen them before, I would have protected them."

"Why are you leaving?" Tony asked.

"Because you are...the Americans."

"Why would _that_ make a difference?"

"My...father, he still holds some loyalty to...to the country we lived in before going to Israel, even though that country is officially no friend of Israel now. He sent me here to work for them, to keep an eye out for those who may work against them...even as they would work against us."

"What country?"

Ziva's eyes dropped.

"I told Tim that I was not his enemy. I am not."

"What country?"

"The Soviet Union."

"You're a commie?" Tony asked, flabbergasted.

"No. I am Israeli, but my father still feels some loyalty to them. The Soviet Union has rejected Israel, but they are still willing to use us if it is possible. ...and my father has made it possible, secretly."

"But you've been helping _us_."

"Because I believe that, if someone is right in this place, it is not _them_," she said, pointing at the dead VC.

"What do you tell them?"

"What they wish to know. Are you winning? Will communism win?"

"And?"

"And you are leaving. The AVRN cannot win without you. Everyone knows this. Once the United States is not fighting here, Vietnam will be taken by the north. And things like this will keep happening. The Degars will be targeted as they are now, only moreso. I do not care who wins...but I care about these people. They have protected me. They have fed me, given me shelter..." She swallowed and wiped away tears. "And they are dying."

Gibbs could see it. Ziva was not for the U.S. or for the Soviet Union. She was for these people she'd been living among, and she cared about them. Whatever would save them was what she wanted.

And it was what she couldn't get.

They looked at the death all around them again. Ziva had been ruthless in taking out the VC, but she had not been able to save the women and children.

"What will we do with them?" Tony asked.

"There is a village nearby," Ziva said. "We can tell them. They will know what to do."

Somehow, there was no question that they would go with Ziva. It wasn't as important to finish their mission right now. Ziva took off through the trees, Tony and Gibbs right behind. The village was about a mile away. When they arrived, there was a distinct sensation of wariness coming from the Degars in the village, but Ziva spoke to them quickly.

"I'm sorry," Tony said softly when there was a pause in the conversation.

The villager looked at Tony, seemed to read the sincerity in his eyes. He approached Tony and gave a slight bow.

"We will take them," he said in thickly-accented English.

Tony nodded and then looked at Gibbs. They both felt the dismissal. Ziva must have as well because they all left the village together. After a few steps, it was clear that it was time to go their separate ways again.

"Ziva?" Gibbs asked.

"I will be leaving soon. To go home."

Gibbs smiled a little.

"Keep in contact, if you can."

"You would want that?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Have you seen Tim at all?"

"No. He hasn't said anything to us for a long time."

"He is lost. Maybe I can try to find him. But it will not be soon."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Thank you for not being what you could have been," Ziva said.

Gibbs wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he nodded...and then, he was surprised when Ziva suddenly hugged him. She released him quickly and then hugged Tony as well.

"It has been hard here. Thank you for giving me that contact. I will not be able to say all that I saw when I return to Israel. It will be hard to keep it inside."

"You can let it out to us," Tony said. "Anytime."

"Thanks."

Then, without another word, Ziva vanished into the trees.

Tony looked at Gibbs. There was no need to talk. They went on with their mission.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three weeks later..._

Getting back to Chu Lai was a relief. They reported on their successful mission and then went back to their barracks. Tony had not been his usual upbeat self, not since seeing the slaughter Ziva had shown them.

After a day of decompressing, Gibbs turned his thoughts back to what Ducky had said.

"Gibbs...can I ask you a question?" Tony asked.

"Do you ever ask permission first?"

Tony smiled. "No, but I think I should. I know we have this...unspoken agreement that we don't ask the question, but I have to. Why are you here? Why are you _still_ here?"

Gibbs looked at Tony and then looked around at his surroundings.

"To forget things that are worse than being at war," he said finally.

"What things?"

"I was married."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"My wife and daughter were killed. I didn't have anything else left. I could self-destruct or I could be a Marine. I decided to come out here. When I'm focused on missions and recon, I don't have to think about losing them."

Tony looked surprised. Gibbs wasn't sure if his surprise was because of _what _he'd told him or just the fact that he _had_ told him.

"Oh."

Gibbs smiled a little.

"Why are _you_ here, DiNozzo?"

"Not because of that."

"Why?"

"I couldn't think of anything else to do. Actually...Gibbs, I don't know if I want to go back just because I don't have anything really to go back to."

"What were you doing before?"

"Bumming around, really. I finished college. I was a jock. I never really planned on what I was going to do with myself after that. I get a paycheck. I'm doing something that I see as being worthwhile. I've got...structure, as stupid as that sounds. I'm not sure what I'll do."

Gibbs looked at Tony, really looked at his stance. He could see that Tony was ready to be out of here, but he wouldn't leave on his own.

"I'm not re-enlisting when my tour is over," Gibbs said, making the decision right at that moment.

"You're not? You're ready to leave?"

"Yep."

"What are you going to do?"

"Don't know yet. I'll figure it out. What about you?"

"I don't know. I just figured that...you'd stay here until the bitter end."

"You can stay if you want."

Tony laughed. "No way. Can you imagine me trying to take orders from someone else? You're the only person in Vietnam who could stand me for more than five minutes."

"What are you going to do?"

"I guess I'll figure it out, too."

"Good idea."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two months later..._

They were getting ready to board the transport in Da Nang. The idea of going back was weird and yet, Tony was kind of excited about it. He had been thinking about what he'd do, and an idea had come into his head that made more sense the more he thought about it. Neither he nor Gibbs had really talked about their decisions again, but they were both thinking about it. When they had made their decision, Gibbs had told Morrow and received an official commendation for his service. Gibbs didn't care about that, but he told Tony that he had been commended as well.

Tony paused as they were getting on. A thought had just occurred to him. Gibbs looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Tony set down his pack and, for the first and only time, gave Gibbs a formal salute.

"It's been an honor serving with you, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs!" he said.

The eyebrow went further up but then, Gibbs returned the salute.

"Pleasure has been mine, Corporal."

"Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant!"

Gibbs reached out and gave Tony a light swat on the back of the head.

"Don't call me _Gunnery Sergeant_, DiNozzo!"

Tony laughed.

They got on the plane, headed back to the world.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

_Two months later..._

Gibbs walked up the sidewalk to a modest house. It had been cared for, and right now, with spring weather in full force, the garden looked beautiful. Gibbs hadn't been sure how to go about this, but he figured that, if Tim had come home and been accepted, even if he wasn't there right now, they'd know where he was. If Tim had been rejected, he could give the McGee family a piece of his mind. It was a win-win situation.

He knocked politely on the door.

It opened, revealing a young woman, probably around twenty years old.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Is this the McGee residence?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. Do you need to talk to my dad? Because he isn't here right now. He's working. Mom's home though."

"I'd like to speak to your mother."

"Can I tell her who you are?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Jethro Gibbs. I served with your brother, I assuming."

"Oh! Wow! Yes, come in!"

She ran off ahead of him, calling for her mother. Gibbs waited just inside the door and looked around at what he could see of the house. It was clean and well-kept, just like the outside. There was a family portrait on the wall in the hallway. He walked over and looked at it. It was obvious that this had been taken before Tim had joined the Marines. No military cut, and Tim looked a _lot_ younger and more carefree. There was a twinkle in his eyes that Gibbs had _never_ seen. John McGee was in his uniform and seemd excessively formal compared to his son and daughter, both of whom were smiling broadly at the camera. Actually, Tim looked a lot like his father, only not so rigid.

"Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs?"

The mouthful made him smile. Gibbs turned and nodded to the older woman who had come into view.

"Jethro," he corrected her and put out his hand.

She shook it.

"I'm Margaret. I wish my husband were here, but he's still actively working on base. I keep hoping I can convince him to retire, but I doubt it'll happen anytime soon." She smiled in easy acceptance of the vagaries of her husband. "Please, come into the living room."

"Thank you, ma'am."

They walked into the living room and Gibbs saw another family portrait. Still pre-dating Tim joining the Marines, but he looked older there...and yet, that twinkle was still there, the one that made Tim look so different from the man Gibbs had served with. Margaret noticed his gaze.

"That was taken the year Tim started grad school." She sighed a little. "It was the last time we were able to get all of us together. Please, have a seat."

"Thanks."

"What brings you here, Jethro? Did Tim send a letter for us with you?"

Gibbs felt his brow furrow.

"I haven't seen him in over a year, ma'am."

"What?"

Margaret's brow also furrowed.

"He was discharged over a year ago. I came to ask how he was doing."

"No. That's not possible," Margaret said. "He's been sending us letters over the last year...telling us about being in Vietnam. He had that jungle rot and then he went back to work with you."

"No," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "No, he wasn't. The jungle rot was bad and he had some other issues and so he was sent back here. He received an honorable discharge in January of 1970."

"I have his letters," Margaret said. "Let me get them."

She got to her feet and left the room. Gibbs sat back and felt more than a little surprise. Tim had been writing to his family as if he was still in Vietnam. He was lying...and then, Gibbs realized why. Tim was supposed to stay until the end of the war.

Margaret came in with a few letters.

"There aren't many. He told us that he'd be busier than he had been and it would be harder to find time to write."

Gibbs took them and looked at them.

"Do you have the envelopes?"

"No, I'm sorry. I don't. I just...I didn't ever imagine that Tim would lie to us about it."

Gibbs decided to bite his tongue about why Tim was lying. Margaret probably didn't feel the same as Tim's dad had. He skimmed through a couple of the letters and there was little in the way of content. Just a few mentions of the weather and that he was busy, and always closing with an expression of love for his family.

"Where would he be?"

"I don't know, but I have some leave time still, and I'll see what I can find out. As soon as I know, I'll contact you."

Gibbs stood to go and Margaret did as well.

"Thank you. I always was afraid for Tim while he was in Vietnam, just like I was afraid for his father when he was in Korea. Somehow, finding out that he's...somewhere else, is more frightening than knowing he's in danger. I've seen the anti-war protesters and the things they've said about the military. I hope Tim hasn't. His father warned him about what he could see, but it would be worse now. Things have been getting worse and worse. I'm sure you've seen some of it, yourself."

Gibbs nodded without elaborating, and he didn't see that it would be possible for Tim to have missed all the anti-war stuff. Even _Ziva_ had known about some of it. Still, what was the point in saying so? He just shook Margaret's hand again and left the house. As he headed for his car, he started to think about where he would start. Maybe there was something in Tim's discharge papers. He could ask.

"Gunnery Sergeant? Uh...Gibbs?"

Gibbs turned around and saw Sarah running out of the house.

"Sorry. Tim said that you didn't like being called _Gunnery Sergeant_, but I didn't know what else to call you."

"Gibbs is fine. What is it?"

"Mom said that you're going to see if you can find Tim?"

"Yeah. I'll do my best."

Sarah started to hedge a little and Gibbs had a feeling she was wanting to say something more. He decided to leap to the conclusion that would surprise him but not shock him.

"Do you know where your brother is?"

"Well...kind of."

"Meaning?"

"I'm going to college at Waverley, down in DC. I'm home for the summer."

Sarah looked really uncomfortable, digging her foot into the grass. Gibbs waited.

"Once after I was done with class, I came out and there he was. He was just standing there, waiting for me. I almost didn't recognize him. He looked so different from what I remembered. I was kind of scared of him."

"Why?"

Sarah looked up.

"He just looked wrong. His eyes were so different. He still had the military cut, and...and he must have seen...a lot of stuff. He wouldn't ever tell us what he did in his letters. But he looked so...different. I can't really explain it. I was happy to see him, though. I really was."

"I'm sure you were. So what happened?"

"We went to lunch. I asked him how long he'd been back. He said that he'd been back here for...for months, but he couldn't go home. Because of Dad. He was afraid of losing us. I was afraid of that, too. He told me that he just missed me so much that he couldn't resist stopping by to see me once."

"Have you seen him a lot since then?"

"No. Not once since then. He's sent me letters, though."

"Return address?"

Sarah held out an envelope. Sure enough. There was an address on them.

"You never found it?"

Sarah shook her head.

"Tim didn't want me to, and I was afraid of going against what he wanted. Maybe you can help him...help him not look the way he does."

Gibbs thought of the man he'd seen in those family portraits, the man he'd never known. He wondered if Tim would look any worse than he had in Vietnam or if the Tim that frightened his sister was the one that Gibbs had known.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Are you going to tell my parents?"

"Not right now. I'm going to go down to DC and find McGee first."

"Thanks. I wanted to be able to tell _someone_, but what my dad said...I couldn't let that happen. I don't want to lose my brother."

"You won't. Not because of this."

Sarah nodded and then went back into the house. Gibbs looked after her and then looked down at the envelope. He got into his car and started driving south. He didn't have anything pressing on his time right now. His father knew what he was doing, and he didn't have to report back to Norfolk for another two weeks. As he drove, Gibbs thought about what Tim had done and how he'd managed it. How had he not gone through the post office for the letters home? Regardless, Gibbs was seeing that Tim hadn't got any better in the year he'd been home. He'd hidden from the people who apparently meant the most to him, for fear of losing them. He had an address, but was it genuine? Was Tim living on the street? Was he moving on in everything except for his family? Why hadn't he gone back to MIT? Had they rejected him or was it, again, that fear?

What he was seeing, no matter the cause, was that Ducky had been right. Tim was lost, to use Ziva's words. Gibbs wasn't going to stand for that. Tim was still a part of his team, even if his team didn't really exist anymore. He wasn't going to let one of his team be lost.

Marines never left a man behind and Gibbs wasn't about to start now, just because he wasn't in Vietnam anymore.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs walked through the streets of DC, one eye on the addresses and the other on the envelope. He didn't know what he was looking for and so it could be nothing or it could be something. He'd seen the anti-war protesters out in force and he ignored them. Nothing could be gained by listening to people who were no better than any other group who chose stereotypes over reality. Reality was messy and inexact. Stereotypes made for easy slogans. Perhaps there was even some truth in what they were shouting, but the plain fact of the matter was that as long as all they wanted to do was shout, they weren't going to address reality and probably just as many people would be hurt as helped by what they were doing.

He stopped in front of a building. It had a sign declaring it to be _Jim's Gym_. It looked like a boxing gym. This was the address that Tim had mailed his letters to Sarah from? It didn't look too promising.

Still, he had to start somewhere. He decided to go in.

The gym wasn't very full at the moment, but there was a man at the front desk, perhaps a little older than Gibbs himself was.

"Good morning, sir," the man said politely. "We're technically not open right now, but if you're wanting to talk about joining the gym, I'm more than willing to talk about it."

Gibbs smiled. "I'm not looking for a gym membership."

"What is it, then?"

"I'm looking for someone who's been sending letters from here."

The friendly expression closed off.

"It's my establishment. I can send letters here if I want to."

"I'm not the police," Gibbs said. "I'm looking for a friend. We served together in Vietnam."

"Who is it you're looking for?" the man asked, his stance relaxing slightly.

"Tim McGee."

"And who are you?"

"Jethro Gibbs. If he's not here, just tell me and I'll look for him somewhere else."

"Why do you want to know where he is?"

"Because I don't leave my men behind, and I'm afraid he might be in danger of that. Do you know where he is?"

The man was silent for a few seconds. Gibbs waited. This was his only lead at the moment. If there was something to be learned here, he would be patient.

Finally, the man nodded.

"Tim's here. Do you want to talk to him?"


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"He's here? Right now?" Gibbs asked in surprise.

"He lives here. He rarely leaves, mostly only to mail letters or get groceries."

"Why here?"

The man smiled.

"He served with my son, Jim, in Vietnam. They went through boot camp together. Jim died in their first battle out there, and Tim risked his life to make sure that Jim's body wasn't left behind. He found me at home. He'd wanted to talk about Jim...and I think he'd wanted to be forgiven for letting my son die. Of course, I couldn't blame him. Anyone looking in his eyes would see that he wasn't to blame and that he felt horrible about it. I let him come in. We talked for a while, and then...I just looked at him and I could see that he didn't have anywhere else to go. I didn't know why and I didn't ask. I just suggested that he stay with me for a few days."

"It's been more than a few days," Gibbs pointed out.

"So it has. Well, I didn't want to let him wander out of my house and to who knew where. Jim...he would have haunted me forever for that. So I asked him if he'd like to work for me for a while, here at the gym. He didn't want to at first, but I...well, I lied a little and said that I needed the help. I don't really. This is a small gym and I don't have a large clientele, but I could afford to pay him a little bit and I let him live in the apartment above the gym. It's small and not too nice, but it's better than he'd probably have got anywhere else."

"What does he do?"

"He cleans up in the evenings, opens up in the mornings. I'm usually here in the morning, but he gets the gym ready. And in the downtime, he works out. I swear that he's in better shape now than he was when he first came here...although he looked pretty rough. He said that he'd been sick."

Gibbs nodded. That was as good a way to explain it as anything, he supposed.

"He's in the gym, then?"

"Yeah. In the back corner with the heavy bag. He tends to make the rounds of all the equipment. He says that he's making sure it's working. He would do it anyway."

Gibbs smiled and nodded.

"By the way, your name is?"

"Jim...Senior. This is Jim's Gym, after all."

Another smile and Gibbs headed back into the gym. He saw Tim right away. He was punching the bag like his life depended on it. Gibbs walked over and stood beside Tim, in his line of sight. Tim ignored him, although it was obvious that he noticed that Gibbs was standing there. He just kept punching the bag as hard as he could. He was sweating profusely and breathing hard.

"Been a long time, McGee."

Tim stopped for a moment and looked at Gibbs and then turned back to the bag and resumed punching it. He said nothing.

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked.

"What does it..._look_ like...I'm doing, Gibbs?" Tim asked between punches.

"Hiding."

"What would _I_ have to hide from?" Tim asked, sounding angry.

"You didn't go home."

"How do you know that?"

"Because _I_ went to your home, looking for you."

"Why?"

"Wanted to see what you'd been doing. You didn't say much in your letters."

Tim stopped beating up the heavy bag. He looked at Gibbs fully, and Gibbs saw that the look in Tim's eye had, if anything, become worse, not better.

"You told my parents that I'm not in Vietnam?"

"Yeah. Why didn't _you_?"

Tim turned back to the bag and started hitting it again, harder than he had before.

"Thanks a lot, _Gunnery Sergeant_," Tim spat. "You have a knack for ruining my life."

He punched the bag again.

"Your life isn't ruined."

"You haven't been here, Gibbs! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Maybe not, but you haven't been here, either. You've been in Vietnam."

Tim scoffed at him and stayed focused on the bag. Gibbs saw something in Tim that encouraged him to keep pushing.

"Even if you _hadn't_ been lying about it to your family, you're still back there."

"Wow. That sounds...so...deep, _Gunnery Sergeant_," Tim said, bitterly, hitting the bag particularly hard on the last word.

"Tim, you don't have to be here."

"Oh, yeah? Did my dad say that when you stupidly told him that I wasn't still in Vietnam? Gunnery Sergeant?"

"Your dad wasn't home. He was working. I only told your mom."

"Yeah, big surprise."

"If you didn't want to go home, why didn't you go back to MIT? The GI Bill would have helped you go back."

"None of your _business_, Gunnery Sergeant," Tim said. "You're not my CO anymore. I'm not a Marine anymore. You don't have to be here and I'm busy."

"Busy? Hitting a leather bag?"

"I have a job. I have a place to live. I'm not a bum."

"You're not doing anything with your life, Tim. You're worth a lot more than cleaning up in a boxing gym."

Tim stopped hitting the bag and looked at Gibbs again.

"What? Are you going to give me some sort of pep talk, Gunnery Sergeant?" Tim demanded, sounding absolutely infuriated. "Are you going to tell me that things aren't as bad as I think they are? Are you going to tell me that I'm not the scum of the earth like people say I am? Are you going to tell me that I can be happy? Is that what you're going to tell me, _Gunnery Sergeant_?"

"Do I need to?" Gibbs asked.

Tim scoffed at him and started to punch the bag faster and faster until finally he stopped and leaned against it and, to Gibbs' surprise, he started to cry. Tim, who had almost never let out any emotion besides anger and determination, was crying.

"Yes, Gibbs," he said, at last, leaning on the bag and wiping away tears with his gloved hands. "Yes. I need you to tell me all that. Tell me that I'm not as bad as all those people out there say I am. Tell me that it's not so bad. Tell me that...that I'm not a baby killer. Tell me that the nightmares and the times when I forget where I am will go away. Tell me that there's some way out of that jungle Hell I'm still living in. Tell me that I don't have to be like this for the rest of my life."

Tim sat down on a bench and pulled the gloves off his hands. Then, he ran his hands over his head. He was actually shaking a little.

"I need someone to tell me that," he said, trying to stop the tears. "I need to know that it's not true."

Gibbs sat down beside Tim.

"I wasn't... I was going to make it. I heard that more were coming home. There was... but...once I got here...I wasn't even sure I could go home anyway."

"Why not?"

Tim got to his feet again and looked like he would start punching the bag bare-handed. Gibbs got up and stopped him. He grabbed hold of Tim's arm and held him back.

"Not a good idea, Tim."

Tim didn't insist.

"Is it your dad?"

He nodded.

"You're mad at him."

"Sometimes...when I'm punching the bag, I imagine him there instead."

"Why?" Gibbs asked. He figured that he knew, but he wanted Tim to admit it, rather than hold it back like he'd made a habit of doing.

Tim sank back to the bench and didn't speak.

"Why?" Gibbs asked again.

"I would have done my part anyway. I wanted to, but I don't know if I would have gone back after everything that happened my first tour. Some of the things I did, the things that I saw...I wouldn't have if I could have gone home."

"You blame your dad for what happened in Vietnam."

"Sometimes. Not always."

"How often?"

Tim just shrugged.

"Tim, you should talk to him."

"No, I shouldn't. We don't talk. If I disagree with him, _he_ talks."

"You need to talk to him so that he knows how you feel. You need to tell him. If you don't want to stay after that, then, you won't be wondering what he'd say."

"What's with the advice?" Tim asked, now mastering his tears. "I'm doing fine. I don't need to change anything."

"Why not go back to MIT? You told me you were a geek and that you loved what you were doing."

"I did."

"Even if you had to apply again..."

"They wouldn't want me there."

"How do you know that?"

"Because the faculty is against the war. The students are against the war. They wouldn't want me there...because I'm not against it, not even with all the stuff I saw. But every time I leave this building, I see people shouting that I'm a baby killer, that I'm a rapist. I _never_ would do those things! Never! But they still say it."

"You can't listen to those people, Tim."

"Hard not to when they're shouting so loud and they're everywhere I go."

"Well, they're not saying much; so you ignore them."

"I never accepted those things as good."

"Of course you didn't."

"I defied my entire squad to say no."

"I know."

"In World War Two, the soldiers were treated as heroes when they came home. Same with Korea. Why are we treated like the scum of the earth because of what a few have done?"

"I don't know, Tim. I don't understand it."

"I'd rather just hide in here. Then, I don't have to face them. I'm afraid of what I might do."

"What do you think you'll do?"

"I've killed men with my bare hands, Gunnery Sergeant," Tim said. "I have dreams about it. I forget where I am. If that happened out there...someone could get hurt...and it wouldn't be me. We both know that I don't get hurt."

Gibbs stifled a sigh, reached out and swatted Tim on the back of the head.

"Wake up, McGee! We're not in Vietnam and you already know that it wasn't about you being somehow protected...and stop calling me _Gunnery Sergeant_. That doesn't change just because we're back in the U.S."

That didn't have the reaction Gibbs expected. Tim leaned forward and stared at his hands.

"I wish I _could_ wake up, Gibbs. I don't feel like I can. I feel like I'm in a nightmare...but it'll never end. Even when I wake up in the morning, I'm still not awake. ...and I know that I shouldn't be acting like this. I shouldn't feel like this, but I can't help it. I really can't. I've tried to stop! Nothing will stop it."

Tim got up, put back on the gloves and started hitting the bag again. Gibbs wasn't sure what to do about it. This kind of thing wasn't in his own experience. Sure, he'd had some issues when he first got back, some feelings of watching for ambushes, but that had faded as he'd been home. What he was seeing in Tim was that kind of thing only much worse...and Tim had been home for more than a year without things getting better. Why not?

"Tim."

"Sometimes, I can't remember where I am," Tim said, punching the bag. "I think I'm back in the jungle again. Sometimes, I'm just afraid for no reason. Sometimes, I have nightmares. Sometimes, I can't go to sleep because I'm so afraid of being found. I get this feeling of...I don't know. I just have to...move."

He kept punching the bag, but there was a wildness to his movements. Gibbs grabbed Tim by the arms and turned him away from the bag. Tim suddenly stiffened. There was sheer terror in his eyes.

"Tim!"

It was like he wasn't even seeing Gibbs at all...or if he was, it wasn't from the position of someone standing in a gym in DC.

"Not...what I wanted..." The words were jerky, almost whispered. Tim was terrified and started trying to pull away from him. He was frantic.

"Tim, what's going on?"

The movement from behind him distracted Gibbs. He turned and only had time to realize it was Jim before Tim was pulled away from him.

"Listen to me, Tim. Remember where you are. Let it go," Jim said, gently. "This happens to him sometimes. It's like he's in Vietnam again. Don't be afraid of it. It's just a memory, Tim."

Gibbs watched as Tim gradually reconnected. He'd never seen anything like that before. It was real, he was sure. Tim wasn't faking it, but what did he do about it?

"That's what happens," Tim said softly. "It's like I'm back in the jungle again. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing, Tim," Jim said, patting his back. "It's just something that happens."

Tim looked at Gibbs, and he seemed to be begging for a solution to a problem Gibbs hadn't even thought could exist. He'd heard about veterans having some troubles coming back, but he'd never seen it before. There was a part of him that wanted to tell Tim just to deal with it. People had problems and all they needed to do was figure out what to do. ...but at the same time, Tim had been dealing with this for a year and it hadn't gone away. How long could it go on without change?

"Are you feeling better?" Jim asked.

Tim nodded.

"Okay. I'll leave you two to talk more."

Gibbs sat down beside Tim when Jim left.

"It's never simple with me, Gibbs," Tim said with a weak smile. "You didn't know what kind of a wimp you had on your team, did you."

"You're not weak, McGee," Gibbs said. "This isn't something you should just accept as normal."

"It's not normal, but it's what I've got."

"I don't think it has to be. You're not a weakling, and if this is a problem for you, then, that means there's something you can do to fix it. Is that keeping you from going home, too?"

"Sort of. With all this stuff...I can't take a rejection, too...and I don't want to remind them of where I was."

"I won't insist on it, but I still think you should actually talk to your father if for no other reason than to make sure he knows how he went wrong."

"You think he did?"

"Yeah."

"And you don't think that I'm a wimp for being like this?"

"No."

Tim looked at Gibbs.

"What are you going to do to make it better, then? I don't think another of those head slaps is going to help."

"You call me _Gunnery Sergeant_ again, and we'll try it," Gibbs said.

Tim smiled and then sighed.

"Dad wouldn't agree with you. He'd say that I was just making excuses, that I should buck up and be a man."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure I can be without risking telling him. I've known my dad for a long time, Gibbs. I don't think he's going to suddenly become someone other than he's always been."

"I think you need to get some help with this, McGee, and I think you _can_."

"It's been a year, Gibbs. These things aren't going away. Whether or not I'm right about it just being an example of what a wimp I am, I can't imagine that anything is going to make me feel any better about what I did out there. I can't imagine, even if I'm not a big wimp, that anything I could do will make me stop having nightmares. I'm better off just hiding out here."

"You can't hide out here forever. I'm going to visit Ducky. He lives out in Virginia, not far from here. Come with me."

"Come with you? I never really knew Dr. Mallard as well as you do. I mean...I didn't feel comfortable calling him Ducky...even though pretty much everyone else did." Tim shrugged uncomfortably. "What would I go for?"

"To talk to him. I'm not a doctor, McGee, but he is, and he already knows you. You don't have to hide from him."

Tim shook his head. "No, Gibbs. He's not going to want to deal with me. He's not a doctor in Vietnam anymore. He doesn't have to do any of that anymore."

"You're assuming he was only doing those things because he had to?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I?"

Gibbs looked at Tim. He seemed genuinely surprised at the idea.

"McGee, he does it because he cares. He took extra time to talk to you because he cares about helping. That doesn't stop because he left Vietnam. He didn't have to go to Vietnam. He was a lot older than most of the doctors out there. He went because he wanted to help."

"So...why are _you_ here?" Tim asked.

"Because I made you a promise."

"We're not in Vietnam anymore," Tim said.

"But we're still a team. Tony's decided to give law enforcement a try. They were happy to get him. I'm staying in the Corps, stationed at Norfolk. We all go down together or we all succeed together. I'm not letting you fall...and you're falling. I'm not standing aside for that to happen."

Tim's eyes got a little moist. He pulled off the gloves again and wiped hurriedly at his eyes. He shook his head in frustration at himself.

"I served in Vietnam for almost four years, never shed a single tear, not even when Jim died. You come here and talk to me for ten minutes and I'm crying like a baby."

Gibbs put his arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Nothing wrong with crying if you need to."

"Real men don't need to cry, but I've had nightmares that left me crying, curled up in a ball on my bed. I'm such a wimp."

"Who told you that?"

"It's common knowledge."

Gibbs smiled a little. Tim wasn't looking at him. He was definitely embarrassed, but he was afraid, too.

"Not too common. Common or not, nothing wrong with crying, and you don't have to worry about being a real man. You already are."

"And you think that talking to Dr. Mallard is going to help?"

"I think it'll be better than hiding out here, going nowhere."

"When?"

"Right now."

"I'm all sweaty."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I've been back here for a year, Gibbs. I'm used to showers."

Gibbs chuckled. "Go ahead. I'll wait."

Tim got up and looked around the gym.

"I'm afraid to leave. I don't like to go out."

"All the more reason to go now. Stop hiding. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Tim nodded.

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant."

Gibbs glared, and thankfully, Tim laughed and evaded the swat. He left the gym and Gibbs sat on the bench. Once Tim was gone, he sighed. He would never have guessed that this would have been Tim's life, cleaning up after a bunch of amateur boxers. This wasn't what he should be doing, and no way would Gibbs leave him here.

No way.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Tim didn't take very long getting cleaned up. He was back down in the gym in ten minutes. Gibbs waited patiently and then they walked out together. Tim tensed up as soon as they were out on the sidewalk. His eyes shifted back and forth as they went through the crowds. If this was Tim's usual reaction to being outside, no wonder he wanted to stay indoors.

"You going to launch into orbit, McGee?" he asked.

"Not yet," Tim said. "I usually go out when there aren't so many people around."

"You think you're going to be okay?"

"How far do we have to go?"

"I parked in a city lot just down the street. Not far."

"Good. I'll be fine."

They made it to Gibbs' car and started out of DC. Tim sat straight and stiff in the seat, staring out the window.

"Nervous?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Terrified."

"Of what?"

Tim smiled a little, although he didn't look at Gibbs.

"Of whatever else you're going to spring on me."

Gibbs chuckled.

"Don't have any plans."

"Good."

Tim still didn't relax.

"Do you think that Ducky's going to hurt you or something?"

"I don't try to understand people, Gibbs. I gave up on that in Vietnam. Understanding people only makes the human race look worse."

"That doesn't say much for us, does it."

"There are some exceptions. Just not many."

"Are you one of them?"

"No."

"When did you get so cynical?"

"When I killed people with my bare hands and came back here to see that the world thinks as badly of me as I do," Tim said flatly, staring out the window. "When I walk down the street and see people with as much hatred in their eyes as I saw in the VC. Americans hate the American military as much as North Vietnam does. It's easier just to avoid people all together. Then, you can't get hurt or disappointed by them."

Tim hadn't exactly been a ray of sunshine in Vietnam. He'd always been too serious for that, but this was worse. Much worse. Gibbs couldn't help but wonder if Tim _always_ felt this way or if his fear and anxiety was making it worse than usual. The more he saw of Tim, though, the more he knew that Tim needed help. It was hard to believe that this man with the dark view of mankind was the same as the young man in the family portrait with a bright smile and a playful twinkle in his eye. Vietnam had not been good for Tim McGee.

...but how much of it was from the rejection of his father?

There was a period of silence.

"When I was at your house, I saw the family picture from before you went to Vietnam," Gibbs said.

"Did you?" Tim asked, with little inflection.

"You look a lot different."

"My hair was longer."

Gibbs smiled. "Yeah, it was."

More silence.

"I was happier," Tim said softly.

"It looked like it."

"I've never been good at hiding how I'm feeling. ...not for very long anyway."

And yet more silence. Tim was worried and he wasn't going to be very talkative. At least not right now. Gibbs did hope that Tim would talk to Ducky. Thankfully, Ducky was good at drawing people out when he wanted to. As they got closer to Reston, Gibbs compared Tim's reaction to his service to Tony's. Tony had been uncertain about coming back, mostly because he had no plan of what he'd do. Vietnam had give him structure he had appreciated even if he didn't know it. In fact, his choice to pursue a career in law enforcement had likely been a semi-conscious desire to continue that structure. Tony had reacted to the loss of a place where he knew what he was doing and what was expected, but his reaction had been to direct his life to something that would suit him. Tim's reaction to his problems, which were admittedly a lot different from Tony's, had been to give up on the human race and hide away as much as he could. Gibbs wouldn't have thought that of Tim, and he refused to believe that he was that bad a judge of character.

This wasn't normal and required help.

They got to Ducky's home, and Gibbs had to think for a second if he had the right house. He was surprised at how large it was. It looked way too nice. Still, this was the right address. It appeared that Ducky was rather well off. Moreso than Gibbs would have thought.

"Here we are, McGee."

Tim nodded mutely and got out of the car. They walked to the front door. Gibbs knocked. Tim's tension was such that he looked like he wanted to run away.

"Stay put, Corporal," Gibbs said.

Tim grimaced but then smiled a little.

The door opened. Ducky hadn't changed a bit.

"Jethro! I'm thrilled to see you..." He noticed Tim standing awkwardly beside Gibbs. "...and I knew that you were coming this way to look for Timothy, but I had no idea that you'd bring him with you. Welcome, Timothy. It's been a long time."

Tim nodded but was shifting his eyes around, clearly embarrassed. He said nothing.

"Come in, both of you! It's so wonderful to see you."

Ducky led them inside into a very nice, airy room.

"Have a seat. I was preparing some tea, but I wasn't prepared for two visitors. Give me a moment."

"I'm not really a tea person," Tim said.

"I would wager that you've never been served real tea, Timothy. It certainly wasn't easy to come by in Vietnam. Even if it had been, there wasn't time for a good tea."

"McGee, sit down," Gibbs said.

Tim plopped down on a couch.

"I'll help you, Ducky."

Ducky started to protest but Gibbs raised an eyebrow and he nodded. Tim just looked resigned. Gibbs left him there and followed Ducky into the kitchen.

"What's going on, Jethro? You said nothing about bringing Timothy along. I don't mind, of course, but he didn't look very happy about it."

"He's not, but I don't know how much of it is just coming here and how much is because of _why_ I brought him."

"What do you mean?"

"There's something wrong with him, Duck. _Really_ wrong. I don't even know what it is because it's more than just his hiding out from his family."

"He _was_ hiding from them?"

"Yeah, but it's not that simple."

"Then, what more is it?"

"He's having a lot of problems with...just what happened in Vietnam. He said that he has nightmares that leave him crying. ...and while I was there he had...some kind of...moment. I don't know what else to call it."

"Explain."

"He thought he was back there. I don't know what he was seeing, but it wasn't me. He was terrified and this apparently happens a lot to him. Enough that the man he's staying with knew exactly what to do to get him through it. He thinks it means he's weak."

Ducky sighed.

"Duck, I don't know what to do to help McGee...except bring him here."

"And hope that _I_ can help?"

"Yeah."

Ducky got out another teacup and saucer and added them to the tray.

"I am vaguely aware of something being discussed along the lines of a kind of psychological reaction to the trauma of warfare. I must confess that I haven't spent a lot of time on it. There are some interesting ideas, but much of it has been presented in the framework of being against the war. While I can understand the feeling behind it, I don't like how it's being approached."

"You agree with them?" Gibbs asked, momentarily distracted.

"To some degree, yes," Ducky said without apology. "I think it may have been a mistake to get involved in a civil war, but, before you get angry at me for that opinion, at the same time, I can't say one way or the other which choice would have led to fewer deaths or a better outcome. I don't think anyone can. I also don't like how all the military is being tarred with the same brush. There have been some horrible actions on the part of the men serving in Vietnam, but they are not the rule. They are the exception. Until the anti-war protesters acknowledge the complexity of reality, I can't support what they do. Unfortunately, complexities don't make good slogans to shout and chant. All who served in Vietnam are babykillers by these people's presentation. That horrid poster. That's not something I can accept because I know better. I have served with men who are honorable, good, decent men. I will not accept any cause that would tear them down simply to be heard."

The tea kettle began to whistle. Ducky attended to it. Gibbs watched him. He had always known that Ducky was ambivalent about the war, but still, it did hurt a little to hear him say he thought it was a mistake. At the same time, Gibbs could appreciate the distinction Ducky was making. Too many didn't think about it that deeply. Ducky had still gone over to do his best to help. He hadn't stayed here and made opinions from the comfort of his home.

"I will speak to Timothy...after tea."

Gibbs smiled.

"Fine by me."

"Good. Come along, then. Before Timothy decides to cut his losses and run again."

That was probably a distinct possibility. Ducky picked up the tray and walked into the room where Tim was now standing, staring at the books on the shelves.

"Timothy?"

Tim jumped and turned around.

"I was just looking," he said quickly.

"It's quite all right, Timothy. I'm glad that there are people who appreciate the written word."

Tim smiled weakly and walked back to the couch. He looked nervous, edgy...and uncertain. Ducky just poured tea for all of them. He didn't press. Instead, he focused on Gibbs.

"So I hear that Anthony has found his niche."

"For now. He just starting to look for where he wants to land. He's thinking about applying in Baltimore."

"I wouldn't mind having another potential visitor close by. I thought he might try to be near New Orleans."

Gibbs chuckled. He was aware that Tim wasn't saying anything, but he knew he was listening and he thought it might be good for Tim to hear something light-hearted, something about the world outside his head.

"He's not sure yet, but I don't think he wants to jump the gun. He and Abby aren't an item by any means. They're having fun."

"Have you communicated with Abigail at all, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

Tim shook his head. "Not since she left Vietnam."

He took another sip of his tea and didn't say anything else. Ducky looked at Gibbs significantly...but he moved on.

"I think Anthony will be an asset to any police department. What about you, Jethro?"

"Training Marines at Norfolk."

Ducky smiled widely.

"I knew they would get you somehow."

Tim actually cracked a smile at that, but he still didn't say anything. They continued talking about light things while having their tea. Tim contributed almost nothing to the conversation. He seemed very tense, very awkward. When they finished their tea, he got to his feet.

"I'll help clean up," Tim said.

"Thank you, Timothy. I appreciate it."

The tray was laden and Tim picked it up.

"I'll show you where to put it," Ducky said.

Gibbs waited, hoping that Ducky might start probing a little and getting into Tim's head...as Gibbs himself had been unable to do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Just put it on the counter, Timothy," Ducky said. "Thank you for your help."

"No problem."

Tim put the tray down and then he stared at it vacantly. He reached out and picked up the butter knife. He started rubbing the dull edge with his fingers.

"Timothy?" Ducky asked.

Suddenly, in a burst of energy, Tim flung the knife away from him. It clattered across the floor and Tim closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists.

Ducky walked over to him. He wasn't sure what this was, but he guessed he was seeing what Gibbs had described.

"Timothy, can you hear me?" Ducky asked.

"Don't touch me," Tim whispered. "Don't touch me."

"Timothy. Can you hear me?"

Tim's breath was shaky. Ducky chanced touching his arm.

That was a mistake. Tim had a meltdown, and Ducky was the focus of it. Tim grabbed Ducky's arm, twisted it around his back and then wrapped his arm around Ducky's neck.

"I saw you...I saw what you did," Tim breathed in Ducky's ear. "I saw it. I'll give it right back to you."

"Timothy," Ducky said loudly, hoping that it would bring Gibbs into the kitchen. "Timothy, you are _not_ in Vietnam right now."

Gibbs didn't let Ducky down. He came running into the kitchen, took one look at what was happening and reacted.

"Corporal McGee! Stand down!" he ordered.

Tim straightened to attention and let Ducky go.

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!"

Ducky moved away, rubbing his neck and his arm by turns. He hadn't ever realized just how strong Tim was. He hadn't realized how this could be. Gibbs gave him a look and Ducky nodded that he was all right. Gibbs moved forward and grabbed Tim by the arms. Tim started to struggle and he was completely silent.

It was a dangerous silence.

"McGee, snap out of it," Gibbs said.

After a few minutes, Tim looked at Gibbs and then at Ducky. The fear was back.

"Oh, no. What did I do..." He looked at Ducky again. "There was...but there wasn't, was there. I'm so sorry...Dr. Mallard. I'm so sorry. I..."

He tried to pull away from Gibbs...to hide away this time. Ducky could see that Tim was horrified at his loss of control. He hadn't ever seen this himself, but Tim had gone back to his time in Vietnam. Whatever he had been thinking, had been experiencing, it had completely taken over his mind.

"Stay put, McGee."

"You see why I didn't want to leave, Gibbs? You see?"

Ducky decided that he needed to get this in hand right now. Tim was afraid of himself. He had too many things he feared. No wonder he couldn't keep himself on an even keel.

"Timothy, it's all right. I'm fine. You definitely startled me and your skills have not ebbed in the year you've been out of the Corps, but I'm fine."

"I don't think I've ever had two of those things happen in a day," Tim said. "I don't know that...I just... Gibbs, I should just go back."

"No, McGee. That's not happening. Right, Ducky?"

"Absolutely. Timothy, how often does this happen to you?"

"Every other day...sometimes. I've gone a week without it. ...the nightmares happen almost every night, but..."

"What were you seeing?" Ducky asked.

"The first time...I had to...to kill a man. It was... I was afraid. I could hear him coming. I just waited and waited. ...and then, I killed him." Tim swallowed back tears. "It's not...I just. You're not afraid of me?" he asked.

"No. I'm concerned for you, Timothy. Jethro wanted me to help, and I can see that you need it. I am more than willing to help you if you'll be willing to allow to me to fumble a bit. If you want my help, you have it."

"Do you really think that you can help me, Dr. Mallard?" Tim asked. "I mean...sometimes...I get really angry without a reason. I'm not...in control."

"All that you're telling me is something that you could get help with. I can't guarantee that I'll do it all correctly. This problem you're having is nothing I have had experience with, but I'll try. Can you trust me to do my best?"

Tim looked at Gibbs and then at Ducky. His instinctive distrust of people in general, his fear of the way he was reacting to stimuli, his anger at all that had happened. It was all clear in his eyes. Tim really wasn't very good at hiding how he felt. But there was something more that was slowly appearing.

Desperate hope.

"I hate the way I am," Tim said.

"Maybe we can help you do better," Ducky said.

Gibbs finally let Tim go.

Tim didn't run.

"Okay."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"Jethro, you can clean up in here. Timothy, why don't you and I go into the study and chat a bit."

Tim hedged. "Maybe...Maybe Gibbs should be there, too...in case I do that again. I don't want to hurt you, Dr. Mallard."

"Jethro will keep his ears open, but I think you deserve to have as much privacy as you can."

Tim still didn't look comfortable with that. Ducky walked forward and put a comforting hand on Tim's arm.

"And I trust you, Timothy. You won't hurt me."

Tim bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor steadfastly for a few seconds. He took a shaky breath and then looked up again.

"That may not be a good idea, Dr. Mallard."

"It is a good idea. I have no doubt of that. Come along."

Tim looked at Gibbs.

"I'll be ready, McGee. Go."

Tim nodded and followed Ducky out of the kitchen. They went into the study. Ducky gestured for Tim to sit. He did and fidgeted.

"Timothy, you said that you never had two of these...events in a single day?"

"Not that I remember."

"How are you feeling right now?"

"Afraid. Bothered by being here. Upset about what just happened. I could have killed you!"

"What were you seeing? I hope it wasn't me," Ducky said.

"Charlie...one of the Viet Cong. The first time I ever really came into contact with them. They ambushed a small village, no soldiers there, just families...but they supported the U.S. They were killed because of that. They had no weapons, but the VC did. It was the first time I ever saw what they were willing to do, and we tracked them down, but there were some problems. I...we had to be quiet and yet stop them. That meant no guns. I was so angry about what they'd done that I didn't even think about it for a second. I just found the guy and I killed him. ...but after it was over..."

"You realized that you'd killed another human being."

Tim nodded.

"It was just...and I saw that knife and picked it up...and suddenly, I was waiting for him to get close enough for me to kill him. And you...you touched my arm and I..."

"I know, Timothy. I think I'm beginning to understand what you mean. You genuinely were seeing that event?"

Tim nodded.

"Not just seeing but reliving it?"

Tim nodded again.

"And this happens often?"

"Pretty often. Sometimes more than others."

"And you mentioned nightmares?"

"Almost every night. They're back in Vietnam like everything else is," Tim said.

Ducky noticed that Tim wasn't looking at him. He was staring at his hands.

"Timothy, are you ashamed of this?"

Tim said nothing for a few seconds.

"Timothy?"

"Gibbs isn't having this trouble. Tony isn't, either. You're not. Abby's not. Why me?"

"I couldn't answer that, but if you're thinking that it's because you're somehow a lesser person than the rest of us, stop that right now. While I'm not familiar with your particular situation, mental illness is far from indicative of overall moral fiber."

"Mental illness?"

"Yes. You are suffering from something, perhaps I could call it psychological injury, and you need help to recover. It doesn't mean you are weak, any more than someone suffering from a broken leg would be considered weak for needing a cast and a visit to a doctor."

"But why me? If I'm not weaker, why me?"

"Timothy, I would say that you had challenges that few others had. In addition, although you will undoubtably take this in the wrong way, some people are not suited to warfare."

Tim let out a humorless laugh.

"And what is the right way for me to take that?" he asked.

"In the way that does not accept the fallacious idea that a real man has to be someone who is eager to kill," Ducky said sternly. "Now, sit up and stop acting you're a lesser being than those who kill without remorse."

"That's not what I was saying."

"Perhaps not, but it's what you're believing."

"No! I don't think it's right to want to kill! I think that killing is a necessity in war but not something you want to do."

"Good. Then, stop being ashamed for how you feel."

Tim suddenly surged to his feet and stormed away from Ducky. He walked to the window and pounded his fist into his hand a few times. These weren't light taps. Ducky could hear the impact and he tensed slightly at this unexpected reaction to his words.

"What are you feeling, Timothy?"

"It's never about what _I_ feel, what _I_ want. It's always about what everyone says. I'm always _wrong_!"

"No, that's not true."

Tim turned around and faced Ducky.

"It _is_ true!" he said, almost shouting, sounding furious. "I make a decision and it's wrong! I'm forced to pay for it! I do my best and it's not enough! I'm forced to take the blame, to be wrong, to be punished for what I feel, and...and..." He took a deep breath and turned back to the window. "...and I get so angry and I can't stop."

Ducky looked back over his shoulder and saw Gibbs standing there. He shook his head and gestured for Gibbs to leave. This was not the time for a physical intervention. Tim was surprisingly angry, but he hadn't lost control this time.

"Timothy, that's nothing to be ashamed of. That's why you're here talking to me. I'm trying to help you and there's a chance that you can be helped, but it will take time and I'm not sure exactly what it will require. However, at the heart of all this is that you _do not_ need to be ashamed of who you are and the choices you made. You are tearing yourself down in tandem with the people who refuse to see the good in what the members of the military were trying to accomplish and that _is_ wrong, because you are a good man, Timothy, and I refuse to accept the idea that you are not."

Tim was quiet for a long time. Ducky waited, letting Tim absorb all that Ducky had said in his, admittedly-vehement speech.

"But I can't control myself, Duck... Dr. Mallard."

"You can call me Ducky, if you'd like. Certainly, I'm not in any position of authority over you now."

"I can't control myself. This was never a problem for me before. If it was going to be an issue, why wouldn't it have happened in Vietnam when I was actually going through all this? Why do I have to live it again...when it's not happening?"

"You lived it, but you didn't deal with it, perhaps. Maybe it was too much for you before and it's coming out now. I will have to do some research myself, but control isn't necessarily going to be the best option. You were firmly in control of yourself when you were in Vietnam, but I have to tell you, that your physical health while you were there was horrible. You were headed toward collapse, likely _because_ of that control. Instead of letting yourself feel those things, you hid them, suppressed them and that's not healthy. Certainly, you want to find a balance of that control, but absolute suppression is _not_ a good thing."

Tim walked back to the couch and plopped down on it.

"Gibbs says that I should talk to my dad about...about everything."

"He may be right, but you should get yourself in hand first. There is no reason to pile on the stress."

Tim smiled a little.

"I don't know what it's like _not_ to have stress."

"Perhaps that's something we could start with right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Now, this is only a suggestion and I want you to take it as such."

"What is it?"

"You aren't ready to confront your family, I'd guess?"

Tim just laughed. Ducky nodded.

"I think that you should consider going somewhere else other than DC."

"Why?"

"Because you're confronted, everywhere you go, with the protests...because this is the nation's capital...you can't get away from it, and even if others could, I don't think _you_ can because you seem to be drawn to the pain."

"I don't have anywhere to go."

"You could stay here if you'd like, but I also believe that Jethro offered up his father's home. It's a small town from what he's said to me and you could be away from all this chaos for a little while."

"I don't know his father."

"Of course, you don't, but you didn't know the man you've been staying with, either, did you?"

"Jim talked about his dad a lot...and I felt like I had to go there. I didn't expect him to offer me a job."

"Why did you take it?"

"Because I didn't know where else to go and I thought that I could stay there until the war was over and it was safe to go home."

That omnipresent threat. Whether he realized it or not, Ducky could see that Tim was under threat from too many places. No wonder his mind hadn't been able to take it. Not only had he felt the physical threat of fighting in a war, he'd dealt with threats from his own people, from his own family, and then, from the citizens of the nation he was fighting for. Only one of those threats was truly gone. Was it any wonder that, in dealing with the return to his home, Tim's mind had collapsed onto the physical threat of war and not let it go?

"I'm not going to force the decision on you, Timothy. I just want you to think about it."

"I have a job. I can't just up and leave whenever I want to."

"By all means, you should check with your employer first, but if this is something you are willing to do..."

"But I'm...I can't just..."

"What, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

Tim got up again and walked away from Ducky.

"I don't know who he is. I don't know what I'll do. I don't know..."

"If he'll accept you?" Ducky suggested.

Tim said nothing.

"Timothy?"

"I can't trust people," Tim said. "Not anymore."

"You don't trust me?"

"I don't know," Tim said honestly. "You seem to be...honest, but..."

"Or is it just yourself that you don't trust?"

"Not just."

"Will you at least consider it, Timothy?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Now, with what you've told me thus far, I don't feel that I have a good handle on what is known. I'm going to consult with some of my colleagues and see if anything more is known about what you are experiencing."

"I'm the one experiencing it," Tim said softly. "Why would they know about it?"

"You're assuming that you are the only one who has this problem. I would be willing to bet that you aren't."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because, while your particular experience is unique, you are hardly the only person to have trouble with what happens in war. That has been going on, more than likely since there _has_ been war."

Ducky paused and considered what he had just said. Shell shock, battle fatigue, exhaustion, traumatic war neurosis. All were terms used to describe a situation wherein soldiers reacted to the difficulties involved in fighting a war. Often, soldiers who had lingering difficulties were considered cowardly and the problems were hidden. Were all these things the same affliction?

"Is that it, then, Dr. Mallard? Do you have anything more to ask?"

"No. Just keep my suggestion in mind and..." Ducky grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled on it. "...this is my phone number. If you have any problems, please call me. I am more than willing to try to help you."

"And you think you can?"

"Yes. I think so."

Tim suddenly turned around.

"You wanted to catch up with Gibbs. That's why he came. I'm sorry."

Ducky smiled. "This is hardly the only chance we'll have to talk, Timothy. I also knew that he was coming to DC specifically to find _you_."

Tim turned back to the window. That was an attempt to hide his emotions, Ducky was sure. He got up and walked over to Tim and, in a repeat of what had happened in the kitchen, he gently touched Tim's arm. This time, Tim didn't freak out. He did tense, but Ducky thought that Tim wasn't comfortable with physical contact in general.

"You have people who care about you, Timothy. Whether you want to believe it or not, there many who want you to be happy, to regain the life you set aside."

Ducky was surprised to see Tim wipe away a tear. He didn't say anything, and Ducky didn't push it. He simply patted Tim on the back and then looked back and saw Gibbs standing in the doorway.

"I believe Timothy is ready to go, Jethro."

Gibbs smiled.

"You ready, McGee?"

"Yeah."

Tim turned around, back in control of himself.

"Let's go."

"Feel free to drop in anytime," Ducky said. "That goes for both of you."

He watched Tim leave. It had been a terrible shock to see how far Tim had fallen after coming back, especially to know that only part of it was due to his family. He decided that it was time to set aside his own conflict with some of his colleagues and see if anything had been found.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, what?" Tim asked without looking at him.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm...I don't know."

"I meant it when I offered my dad's place."

"Your dad isn't going to want to deal with someone like me."

"I already talked to him. After he had a heart attack because I was calling him, he said he'd be happy to have you."

"Why?"

"He's a military man himself. He's not going to say no."

"I don't know."

"Tim, you don't have to stay here."

Tim smiled a little. "I didn't know you knew my first name."

"I have a good memory."

They fell silent until Jim's Gym once again appeared. Gibbs stopped the car.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Tim asked.

"We won't force you to do anything, but you need to _really_ think about it, Tim."

Tim looked at the gym and then back at Gibbs. He took a deep breath and then got out of the car. Gibbs watched Tim go and then drove back to Ducky's place.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_That night..._

Tim fell off the bed, woke up and was disoriented. He couldn't remember where he was and he fumbled for a knife that he didn't have.

After an unknown amount of time, he realized what was going on.

Another nightmare.

Tim sat against the wall of the small studio and stared at the ceiling. He hated it. If he hadn't been so unwilling to mingle with people, he'd have gone to a bar just to get rid of the fear and anxiety.

It was going to be another long night. He never got back to sleep after the nightmares. It was just a matter of how long he slept before they came.

He looked at the table beside the bed, at the piece of paper lying there.

He'd found a life he could tolerate here. Not enjoy, but tolerate. He hadn't enjoyed life in a long time, years in fact. He had lived without enjoying it. Was it really necessary?

"When did I give up the idea of being happy?" Tim asked himself. "When did I stop even thinking about it?"

When his life seemed to be over anyway.

Then, Gibbs had invaded his existence, pulled him out of it, and insisted that things could be better. Was he right? Ducky seemed to think so.

No matter what they said, Tim still felt that it was something wrong with him that had led to this problem he had. He didn't know of anyone else who forgot he wasn't still in Vietnam. He didn't know of anyone else who started bawling because he had a nightmare.

He looked at the paper again. They kept saying things could be better. Could they really get rid of the omnipresent lead weight in his stomach?

He reached out and grabbed the paper. He looked at it for a long time.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Jim Nelson (Senior) let himself into the gym and was unsurprised to see that Tim had already got everything ready to open. He almost always did and he was now back to punching the heavy bag as he did every morning.

Jim walked over and sat down on the bench. Tim didn't like to be interrupted when he was working out. Sometimes, it had even led to those strange moments when he forgot where he was. So Jim had learned to wait until the young man he'd taken in was finished. Tim punched the bag over and over with single-minded intensity. There was nothing outside of what he was doing at that moment.

After a little while, he stopped and turned around and looked surprised to see Jim there.

"Did I forget something?" he asked breathlessly.

"No. Nothing. How was your visit with your friends?"

"Not really friends," Tim said. "Gibbs was my CO and Dr. Mallard...is a doctor."

"Your CO who spent quite a bit of time looking for you, it seems to me, someone who's trying to help you with that strange stuff you keep seeing. Sounds like a friend to me. Is that doctor charging you for his help?"

"He didn't say anything about that," Tim said.

"Sounds like a friend to me, then. What's _your_ definition?"

Tim just shrugged and sat down on the bench beside Jim. He tugged at the gloves until Jim helped him.

"Did anything come of your visit?"

"They think that I could get better," Tim admitted. "They think that this is something that could be fixed."

"And?"

And it doesn't feel temporary. It feels like this is all it is, and it's not going to change."

Jim patted Tim on the shoulder.

"Tim, my son saw you as someone like him, a true comrade in arms. I showed you the letters he wrote home. You were friends and I'm not going to put you out onto the street. He'd never forgive me, but you're not going anywhere here. You're a lot better than a gym."

"Then, why did you ask me to work for you?"

"To keep you from being lost," Jim said bluntly. "I don't know what's going on in your life, but I could see it in your eyes, in the way you talked. If I had let you leave, I think you would have been gone for good. So I carved out a space for you to live. I don't need the help here, Tim. You've done the work I asked you to do, but I managed alone for years and I can keep doing that. So don't you worry about me if that's keeping you here."

"That's not it...or that's not all it is. I know what I get here."

"Yeah...a whole lot of nothing...and nothing's not enough for someone like you. You need _something_."

"You want me to leave?" Tim asked.

Jim could hear the uncertainty, the fear, the anxiety in Tim's question. He wasn't sure about staying, but he was terrified about leaving.

"No. I want you to think you _can_."

Tim took a breath and stared at the heavy bag.

"What do you see when you're hitting that bag?" Jim asked.

Tim was quiet for a long minute, but then, he gave an answer that Jim hadn't expected. It was much more articulate than he had really thought Tim would be. He knew that Tim was well-educated, but he just hadn't put off that vibe.

"Futility," Tim said softly. "It doesn't matter how many times I hit it. It's always the same result. Futility is what I see."

"Well, that's not very impressive, Tim."

Tim smiled a little.

"Yeah, I know."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Dr. Mallard says I should leave DC, take some time away."

"Where would you go?"

"Gibbs said I should stay with his dad in some little town."

"You're saying a lot about what _other_ people say. What do _you_ say?"

"Not much."

"Well, say _something_."

"I just don't know."

"Think about it, Tim. I want to know what you're deciding because you're going to decide. You're too smart to just sit back and talk about it."

"No, I'm not."

Jim laughed.

"Yes, you are, and the gym is opening soon. If you want to hide, you'd better get out of here soon."

Tim nodded and left the gym. Jim listened to his heavy footsteps on the stairs. Maybe he shouldn't have let Tim hide out here for so long, but he didn't have it in him to push Tim before he was ready. Maybe he'd never be ready and he needed someone to get him started. Jim wouldn't ever claim to know about those kinds of things. All he could do was offer a sanctuary.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He let his mind wander back another time.

"_You'll make it, Tim."_

"_I don't know if I will. It's so much harder than I thought it would be. Dad said that I shouldn't be here. Maybe he's right."_

Jim had been the boost he'd needed to keep going through basic training. That flight to Vietnam had been the high point of his service...before the service had really begun.

"_We're going to save the world!"_

_They all laughed at the absurdity, but at the same time..._

"_As much as we can, we stay together, we serve together and we go down together! No one gets left behind."_

"_Ooh-rah!"_

Tim laughed a little to himself. A bunch of newly-trained geeks shouting like they were tough guys. It had been ridiculous and even they had known it.

"_Man, it's hot here," Tim complained._

"_That might be part of the offensive," Jim said with a grin._

"_Wouldn't surprise me."_

Those first few days had been the adventure and excitement everyone had thought it would be. Then...that first battle.

"_They're everywhere!"_

"_No cover!"_

"_Get down!"_

That had been the worst period of his service. No one could have described what it was like, no one could have prepared him. Basic training couldn't have trained him for that. The days of unending mortars, the seemingly-constant barrage of attack from the NVA, his brain seemed to have shut down...at least for everything except for war.

"_He's dead, McGee. He died before you even got off the hill."_

"_Yeah, I know."_

"_We took the hill."_

_Tim nodded._

"_Good."_

"_Your unit is gone. The ones who survived won't be fighting again."_

_Tim nodded again._

"_We'll get you in a new unit in the next few days. Good work, Marine."_

_Tim straightened, saluted, and walked out._

"We didn't go down together," Tim whispered. "Everyone did but me."

It was so unfair. As ridiculous as he knew it was, Tim still felt that way, years later.

He just didn't know what to do because his whole life had been turned into nothing but Vietnam. That was all he had now.

Was he going to make it?

"Where am I trying to make it to?" Tim asked himself.

He knew he had no goals at this point. All he was doing was living. Right now, he didn't feel like that mattered, but would that ever change? He'd had big plans once.

_Tim felt almost giddy as he pushed the punch card into the computer and it actually began to run! He'd done the program correctly!_

"_First try!" he said with a whoop._

"_First try? It took me two weeks to get those punch cards right," James said._

_Tim flushed with pleasure. "It just seemed right."_

Computers had been something so new to him, something so exciting. He figured that there were no limits to where he could go with them. And yet...

He'd seen the news. He'd heard about what was going on in Vietnam and that they needed people to fight.

It only seemed right to join up.

"And look at what happened," he said softly.

"_I thought you'd be proud!" Tim said. "You've been disappointed in me my whole life because I didn't want to be in the military. Now, I've joined the Marine Corps. I'm going to serve the country!"_

"_This is just going to drag our name through the mud, Tim! We should not be getting involved in Vietnam. It's just a civil war."_

"_So was Korea!" Tim shot back. "You didn't have any problem with going there!"_

"_We engaged honorably in Korea."_

"_Yeah...the only reason you're upset is because you didn't get to decide what I was going to do for me! You never approve if you don't get to force me to do something. I've made my decision and I'm not backing down! Not this time!"_

"_You go there and you won't have a family when you come back!"_

They had shouted at each other, not listening to each other until that declaration. Even then, Tim wouldn't let his father force him to back out of his enlistment. And what had he got out of all that? His sister being afraid of him. Sarah hadn't said anything, but he knew that she had been scared when she'd first seen him.

"_Hi, Sarah."_

_Her face scrunched up for a few seconds and she was clearly looking around to see if he was talking to someone near her...and making sure she wasn't alone._

"_Hi."_

_Tim smiled a little. _

"_I thought you'd be a little more excited to see me."_

"_Tim?"_

"_Last I checked."_

_Sarah walked up to him, almost hesitantly. Then, she closed her eyes and hugged him tightly._

"_Tim. You're back!"_

Even though she had said she was happy to see him, the expression on her face told him that she didn't really know him anymore and he was a frightening stranger to her. He had promised to write her, but he had made her promise not to try and track him down.

And that left him where he was.

Alone. Adrift. Angry. Anxious. Afraid.

He smiled a little to himself as he searched for adjectives to describe himself.

All this thinking was really doing was distracting him from the decision he was supposed to make.

He sat up and picked up the paper with Ducky's phone number on it again. Gibbs hadn't given him a number since he was visiting here not living. But Tim had no doubts that Gibbs would find out whatever he chose to do.

So...he needed to make a decision.

_Am I going to make this effort? Am I going to think that there's a possibility of things getting better? Am I going to trust Gibbs and Dr. Mallard? Am I going to leave this place?_

It was hard to make a decision.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I was relieved to find the house in as good a condition as it was. I had a good friend taking care of it, but still...left empty for as long as it was. It's wonderful to have it so nicely renovated."

Gibbs looked around the room.

"Kinda big, isn't it?"

Ducky smiled.

"A bit, yes, but it's still home for me. It's hard to give up home."

"Don't really have that myself."

"Never?"

"Didn't say that," Gibbs said.

"Are you looking for it?"

"Need to settle in, first. McGee's not the only one seeing the world differently. I'm just not as bad."

"Understood."

The phone rang once and then stopped. Ducky looked over at it. He walked over to the phone and sat down beside it. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I think that was Timothy. I don't want him to get away if he calls again."

Gibbs smiled and they both waited.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again. Ducky answered before it stopped ringing the first time.

"Hello?" The smile told Gibbs that it was definitely Tim on the phone. "Yes, I was waiting for the phone to ring, Timothy."

Gibbs watched as Ducky listened and tried to get a word in around whatever Tim was saying.

"No, it's fine, Timothy. What did you have to say? Do you need to speak with Jethro?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, he's here. Just a moment." Ducky held out the phone. "Timothy would like to speak to you."

"Like to?"

"That may be an exaggeration, but he did ask."

Gibbs walked over and took the phone.

"What is it?"

"_Gibbs...I...I was..."_

"Spit it out, McGee."

"_I want... You said that I could stay with your dad."_

"Yeah. You want to?"

"_I don't know if I want to, but I would like to...try it. If you don't think he'll mind...me."_

"He won't."

"_Okay. How will I get there?"_

"I'll take you. I need to visit him anyway."

"_Are you sure this is a good idea?"_

"Yes."

"_Okay. When?"_

"Give me a day or two. I'll pick you up."

"_I'll be here."_

"Okay. Your mom is worried about you. Can I tell her?"

"_No. I don't want her to know where I am. If you're going to insist on telling her something, fine, but not where I am."_

Gibbs smiled at the command in Tim's voice. There was still some steel in him after all. He was glad to hear it.

"Understood."

He said good-bye and hung up.

"He's going."

"Good," Ducky said. "I really think it will better for him to get away from that place he's hiding himself in."

"Me, too. Dad'll whip him into shape."

"I'm not sure he needs whipping from an outside source," Ducky said.

Gibbs chuckled.

"Are you going to still look into what's wrong with him?"

"Yes. Absolutely. If his problems haven't ebbed in the year he's been back, that indicates a chronic problem, one that won't go away in time."

"You want him to stay here?"

"No. I think your instinct is correct. I can visit or call. Just give me your father's phone number."

"Will do."

"Jethro?"

Gibbs just nodded.

"He's part of my team, Duck, and I made him a promise. I'm keeping it."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

_Two days later..._

Tim looked out the window.

"Where are we going? The middle of nowhere?" he asked.

"Nope. Stillwater."

"Never heard of it."

"I'd be surprised if you had."

Tim fell silent and stared out the window again. Gibbs wasn't normally a chatty guy, but he wondered if Tim ever stopped his mind working and when it was that he had learned to suppress questions and not ask for help.

Was it before or after Vietnam?

"Is going to Stillwater really what you want?"

"I don't want anything," Tim said.

"That's a lie."

He saw that tension. Tim got worked up about strange things.

"Look, I don't care what you think, Gibbs. I don't care if you don't agree with me. It's _my_ life. Just shut up."

"I'm not sure it is, really."

"Great. Good for you."

"Do you want me to turn around and drive you back to DC?" Gibbs asked, keeping himself calm. He could see that Tim would be easily infuriated.

Tim took a deep breath and refused to look away from the window.

"Don't call me a liar," he said in a low voice. "Okay?"

"Do you want me to take you back?" Gibbs asked again. "We're almost to Stillwater, but if you really don't want to be here, we can turn around."

Tim grimaced and said nothing.

"What do you want, McGee?"

"Just keep going," Tim mumbled.

"Okay."

Gibbs focused back on the road. He hadn't been back in years, even _before_ heading out to Vietnam. It was strange coming back now. There was no question that Jack had been surprised, but there was also no question that he was happy to have his son coming, even if he was bringing a disturbed young man with him.

When he reached the borders of the town, he was unsurprised to see everything looking the same. Stillwater probably wouldn't change in a hundred years. He could almost have navigated to his dad's store with his eyes closed.

They pulled up in front and Tim looked at the store.

"What's this?"

"My dad's store."

"Oh. He just runs a store?"

"Nothing wrong with that," Gibbs said mildly.

"That's not what I meant. I just...nevermind."

"He doesn't live here. He owns the store."

Tim nodded...and then, didn't move.

"You have to get out of the car, McGee."

Tim cleared his throat and opened the door. Gibbs smiled and got out, too. He walked by Tim toward the door and then noticed that Tim wasn't following him.

"Relax, McGee. My dad doesn't bite."

"Right."

Tim followed behind Gibbs, and it didn't seem worth it to force him to stop acting like he was going to his doom.

"Dad?" he called as he came in.

Gibbs heard movement and saw his dad for the first time in years. He was struck by how much older he looked.

"Leroy. Wasn't sure when you'd be here."

"Had a long drive."

"This your friend?"

Jack looked around Gibbs to where Tim was almost cowering behind him. He wasn't physically cowering, but it was clear that he was trying not to be noticed. Gibbs turned back and forced Tim to look at him. Tim looked a little sheepish and stepped forward.

"Tim McGee," he said.

"Jackson Gibbs, but Jack will be just fine."

"Tim," Tim said in reply.

"Nice to meet you, Tim. Why don't you take a look around while I talk secretly to my son about you?"

Tim smiled a little and wandered away to look at the stuff on the shelves.

"Subtle, Dad," Gibbs said.

"Don't need to be subtle all the time, son. Sometimes, you can just be honest about it. From what you said about him, I figured he'd take honesty in good stead."

"You okay with having him here, now that you've met him?"

"I don't see any reason to say no."

"I can't guarantee that he won't lose it again while he's here."

"I wouldn't expect you to guarantee it. How long will he stay here?"

"Don't know. Depends on how long he's willing to stay. Ducky'll probably be dropping in sometimes."

"Fine. You staying here at all or is it a drop him and go?"

Gibbs smiled. "I'll be here for a couple of days, but my leave ends next week. Have to get back to Norfolk."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Yeah. What else am I gonna do, Dad?"

"You're qualified to think of something else."

"It's what I want."

"Okay. It's not my place to complain."

"Never stopped you before," Gibbs said with a grin.

Jack chuckled. "Old dogs and new tricks, Leroy."

Tim walked over.

"Have you finished talking about me yet?"

"Yep," Jack said. "You want to hang out here or go to my place?"

"And be alone for a while?" Tim asked.

"While you're here, you can be alone as much as you want," Jack said. "I'm not one to force my company on anyone but my son."

"Okay."

"I'll take you home, McGee," Gibbs said.

"Okay."

Gibbs let Tim precede him out of the store and then they drove to Gibbs' childhood home in silence. When they pulled up to the small house, Tim got out and said nothing. Gibbs grabbed his bag while Tim picked up his own.

"When did you become so docile, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim set down his bag and looked around the house. Then, he looked at Gibbs, seeming more distressed than anything.

"I gave up, Gibbs. I really did. I completely gave up. Before you showed up at the gym, I'd given up. I dealt with the...the memories when they came. I dealt with the nightmares. I wasn't happy, but I didn't care about being happy. I figured it wasn't in the cards for me. I figured that it was all that I deserved after...after everything I'd done. I accepted all of that. Maybe...Maybe I wouldn't have been able to deal with it after a while, but for now... And then, you showed up at the gym and started pushing me to do something more, to _be_ more than just...just..." He shook his head. "Why? Why couldn't you just let me coast along like I was? Why did you have to push me to try?"

Gibbs was surprised. He hadn't really thought about Tim not _wanting_ things to get better. ...but he didn't think Tim _really_ felt that way in any case. He'd given up, not because it wasn't what he wanted but because he didn't think he could get any better. He was cutting his losses, not wanting the loss he had.

"I pushed you because you deserve more than you've got."

Tim looked at the floor for a few seconds and then back up.

"Why couldn't you have let me stay?"

"It wouldn't have made things better."

"How do _you_ know that?" Tim demanded. "There's no way you could know whether or not I would have been better off. So what if Dr. Mallard thought I was in bad shape! So what! I don't care! It's _me_, my life, my body. It's not his!"

"He's a doctor, McGee."

"Doctors don't know everything!" Tim shouted. "Doctors don't always know what's right! If they did, people wouldn't just _die_!"

"Tim."

As if Gibbs had suddenly screamed at him, Tim completely deflated at the use of his given name.

"I wanted to stay out there," Tim said.

"It would have killed you."

"And the way I am now is better than that?" Tim asked.

"Yes. Because you're going to get better, and you're going to really live. Because _that's_ what you deserve, not hiding away in some gym."

"And your dad really won't mind my being here?"

"Nope."

"Okay."

"One thing."

"What?"

"I know that if you have one of those...moments when you don't remember where you are, you won't have much control over what you do, but beyond that...you treat my dad with respect. He deserves it."

"Of course."

"Good. That's all I ask."

"Are you going to leave me alone with him here? What if I hurt him?"

"Dad isn't feeble, McGee," Gibbs said with a smile. "He'll be fine."

Gibbs was actually concerned about that himself, but he didn't want to have Tim worrying about it, too. Stress would probably make him more likely to have that problem. He'd warned his dad about it already; so he wouldn't be taken by surprise.

"I don't like putting others at risk."

"I'm aware of that."

"How long will I be here?"

"As long as you need to be."

Tim nodded. He looked around the room again and then at Gibbs.

"Where am I going to sleep?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Back here."

He led Tim to the spare room, showed him where the bathroom was and then, let him be alone since he seemed to want that. He gave Tim the number for the store if he had any trouble. Then, he headed back to the store to catch up with his dad.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Left alone, Tim took a breath and looked around the spare room. It was probably bigger than the apartment he'd stayed in above the gym...and it wasn't big.

He was relieved to be alone for a little while, though. He'd become accustomed to solitude and having stressful contact wasn't helping him feel any more confident. This was somehow going to be better than DC. Tim wasn't sure why or how, but he'd give it a chance. He wasn't paying for it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You already told me about those things, Leroy. I'm aware of the risks and I'm willing to accept them. You sound like an old woman," Jack said.

His focus was mostly on restocking his shelf. Gibbs was helping, but he had other worries.

"I've seen two of these things. The first one, he was just afraid. The second one...he attacked Ducky. I don't know if he would have killed him, but he really didn't know it was Ducky. He thought he was in Vietnam and going to be attacked. He reacted as would have been appropriate out there."

Jack turned away from the shelf and faced his son.

"Leroy, this young man has problems. I know. I've seen this kind of thing before, not after serving but some had to be sent home because they couldn't take it. I'm a little older now, but I'm not worried about him hurting me."

"Maybe you should be."

"I'll be careful, Leroy, but I'm not going to walk around afraid of someone. No more than you would if you were going to be here. You sure you don't want to stay?"

Gibbs smiled. "I can't. Leave is almost over."

"Just checking."

"I'm surprised you _want_ me back, Dad."

"You were always the one with the chip on your shoulder, son. It wasn't on my side. Shannon..." He stopped mid-sentence.

"You can talk about her."

"You sure?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Shannon was the one who kept us connected. She kept your anger at me in check. It's not that I wanted you gone. I didn't want you going to Vietnam, either."

"Why not?"

"I've been in war, Leroy. I know what war is like, and I didn't want that for you. Were you hoping you'd die out there?"

"Not really. I didn't want to think about it. It was a convenient way of getting away from life without...losing it."

Jack nodded. He'd figured that there was some reason like that for his son leaving. He just didn't like it.

"And now?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Something changed."

"What?"

"Don't know. Other things were important. Other people. Couldn't let it be all my life was."

"So...working at Norfolk?"

"It's something I can do well. I'm not hiding anymore, Dad."

"Good. Come and visit anytime. I'll keep you informed about your man."

"Good."

"What about your other Marine?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Tony isn't having too much trouble. He's found a place for himself. When he figures out where he's going to settle, we'll talk more. He likes what he's doing. Actually, I think Vietnam was good for him."

"Sounds like it was for you, too."

"In a different way."

"I'll take care of Tim. You don't have to worry about that...or about me."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

Gibbs was gone. He'd left early in the morning so that he could get back to Norfolk on time. Tim was now alone with Gibbs' father. He wasn't sure about this. Not at all. Still, he couldn't keep sitting in this bedroom, hoping for Jack to leave so that he could stew in the house alone. He'd never been anything but kind.

Tim just couldn't relax. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He took a breath and opened the door. Time to face this small world he'd allowed himself to be put into. He couldn't help but be tense.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang.

"_Get down! Mortar coming in!"_

_Tim dove to the ground and crawled toward the nearest cover. The explosions seemed to be nonstop. When there wasn't mortar fire, there was sniper fire. _

"_They're everywhere!"_

"_I've got five down!"_

"Tim, can you hear me, son?"

_The road seemed to give them no cover at all and it seemed like every shot had someone else falling, either dead or injured. _

"It's all right, Tim. Come out of it."

"No. I can't...I can't get to them," Tim said.

"You don't have to. They're not here."

There was a voice that didn't belong in what he was experiencing. Tim couldn't figure out what was going on.

There were hands on his arms. Where had they come from?

He started to struggle against those arms.

"_They're coming! McGee! The chopper's going to land!"_

"_They're coming in! We can't leave anyone behind!"_

"Tim, come on. Calm down. You're all right."

Tim pulled back, freed himself from the arms and pulled back and ran into...

...a table?

_Where am I?_

Tim blinked a few times and the Vietnam road started to fade. He pulled back again and hit the...

...table?

He wasn't in Vietnam.

He was in Stillwater.

He blinked.

Jack was smiling at him.

Tim looked around. Yes, this was Stillwater, not Route 561 near Con Thien. That day...all those Marines going down.

"You reconnected, Tim?"

Tim nodded. He was embarrassed. ...and he was really upset. The Battle of July Two had not been one of the better moments in Vietnam. In fact...he could feel some tears pricking his eyelids. He wiped at them very quickly, hoping that Jack didn't notice.

"You want to come out from underneath the table?"

Tim realized that Jack was kneeling on the floor and that he was crouching under the kitchen table. He'd covered quite a bit of distance without knowing it.

He crawled out and got to his feet. Then, he extended a shaking hand out to Jack to help the older man stand. Jack took it willingly.

"Did I say anything?" Tim asked, almost afraid of hearing the answer.

"Yeah. What happened? When it really happened, not when you were remembering it."

"Ambush. The NVA pinned us down with mortars and sniper fire," Tim said, staring at the floor. "The battle only lasted a day, but it was the worst day...more Marines died that day than any other single day. I...I don't know why that happened. I..."

"Are you under the impression that you have something to prove to me, Tim?" Jack asked. "Because you don't. I'm easy. I'm just an old man running a store. You don't need to prove anything to me."

"I don't...I don't know."

"I'm sorry for the sound. I dropped a pan."

Tim forced a laugh.

"A pan. ...and I made it into a mortar attack." He swallowed. "It really...really stinks. I'm sorry."

"No apologies for that. If it's not something you can control..."

"Did I hurt you?" Tim asked, suddenly really afraid of doing that.

"No. Not at all. Surprised me, definitely. Leroy told me about this, but it's really not possible to describe it."

"Yeah."

"Tim, are you ready to have breakfast?"

"Sure. I guess."

"Okay. Have a seat."

Tim sank down onto a chair. He was feeling really shaky and self-conscious. He started picking at the grain on the tabletop.

After a couple of minutes, there was a bowl of oatmeal sliding into his view.

"Nothing exciting, but it's filling. Good for you."

Tim nodded and accepted the oatmeal without comment. He saw that there was sugar and cinnamon and cream sitting out on the table. He reached out for them without making eye contact. He added sugar and cinnamon and then topped it off with some cream and started to eat.

"Okay, Tim. You have one decision you need to make. Just one, and I don't care what it is."

"What?" Tim asked, still looking at his bowl.

"Do you want to hide out here or help me in the store? I don't necessarily need the help, but it would give you something to do if you want it."

"You'd trust me in your store, even seeing what I just did?"

He heard Jack chuckle.

"What you did? All you did was crawl on the floor and hide under the table. While I know that it was frightening to _you_, I'm not worried."

"Oh."

"Tim, Leroy didn't describe you as someone who feels such a sense of shame."

Tim shrugged. "He didn't know me that well. I had to be a certain way in Vietnam. I'm just a geek."

"No, you're not. I mean, you might be a geek. I don't know you well enough to say anything about that, but you're not _just_ anything."

Tim still stared at the table and finished his oatmeal. As he ate, he thought about Jack's question. It didn't seem fair to sit around doing nothing while Jack supported him...but he was afraid of going out in public in this town where he knew no one. He didn't want to risk another scene. But he didn't much like the idea of sitting around.

After his oatmeal was gone, the bowl slid out from his view. He heard some clattering of glassware in the sink and then he heard the chair beside him slide out.

Then, there was a comforting hand on his back.

"You served your country honorably, Tim. I don't doubt there were things that went on out there that you wish hadn't done. That's the nature of war when good men are involved. You are a good man and you did your part. You have nothing to be ashamed of and you should never be afraid of looking someone else in the eye. Now, what do you choose?"

Tim lifted his head and made eye contact with Jack. All he saw there was encouragement and perhaps even a bit of humor.

"Well? I've got to get going."

Tim thought about it once more.

"I'll come with you."

"Good. Let's go."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Ziva looked out the window into the night. She had nightmares about Vietnam most nights. She hadn't told her father about it. He was far too occupied with trying to keep Israel from being crushed by the hostile forces all around it. She had grown up with that focus as well, but since being in Vietnam, her perspective had become both wider and narrower. She cared a lot more about individual people than she had before, but she also saw that there was much more to the world than this little piece of earth in the Levant.

All this time she had spent after coming back to Israel had been filled with thoughts about Vietnam, about the atrocities she had witnessed...and about Tim. To be sure, Gibbs and Tony were part of her thoughts as well, but it was Tim with his extreme dedication, his haunted eyes...that was who stuck with her.

"Ziva, it's very late."

She turned.

"Abba...I would like to go to the U.S."

"What for?"

Ziva debated whether or not to be honest. There were plenty of reasons to have someone on hand in the U.S., ears open, waiting to hear of any slackening of that support that Israel needed so desperately at this time. ...but that wasn't why she wanted to go and she was reluctant to add another lie to the lies she had already told her father.

"There is a man who saved my life when I was in Vietnam. I want to see how he is doing."

"An American."

"Yes, Abba."

Ziva well knew her father's difficult and conflicted loyalties. His new country was dependent on an alliance with the United States. His old country was in a continuous state of conflict with the United States. He had not yet managed to choose which set of loyalties would win out in the end.

"He saved my life," Ziva said, focusing on the individual rather than the nation. "I have not been able to thank him properly."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, but given time, I will be able to find him."

"This matters much to you, I see."

"Yes."

To Ziva's surprise, her father walked over and sat beside her.

"I know that your years in Vietnam were difficult, Ziva, but they were necessary."

"To serve which country, Abba? Israel or the Soviet Union?"

"I had hoped that your assistance might soften those in our old home to our cause. It did not succeed. I fear it never will change."

"To whom will we pledge our loyalty, Abba?" Ziva asked. "To those who have rejected us and would see us dead or to this new country in our ancient home?"

She didn't expect a straight answer from her father. She was not surprised when he changed the subject.

"You have sufficient money to get to the United States?"

"Yes, Abba."

"Then, go. Start your search in Washington, D.C. If you hear whispers that we should know, remember them."

"I will."

"Then, go and I hope that you find your peace there."

"Thank you."

"For now, you should try to sleep."

Her father got up and left the room. There were times when he seemed like her father. They were becoming more and more rare as time went on. The further he got into the defense of Israel, the less he was her father.

But he had given her permission to go, and she would leave before he could change his mind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony walked into the precinct and smiled a little. It had kind of been a whim to try out law enforcement, but as he looked around, he thought that this might be the best idea he'd ever had.

"Hey!"

Tony jumped. He was still a little edgy. Sudden loud noises made him think of the ambushes back in Vietnam, but he was slowly learning to overcome that. So he smiled at the man approaching him.

"You, DiNozzo?"

"That's right. Tony."

"Good. I hate to have people be late. Frank Raimey."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Do that. Let's go."

Frank strode away, and Tony was strongly reminded of Gibbs. The thought made him smile. If he had to adjust to another superior, it wouldn't really be an adjustment at all if the guy had the same personality. He smiled and followed along.

"This is your desk," Frank said, pointing at an empty one.

"Looks good," Tony said. He sat down and smiled. "How do I look?"

"Goofy. Here, have something to make it look more personal."

Frank handed him a package. Tony took it and opened it quickly. Then, he looked up at his new boss in surprise.

"Mighty Mouse?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Well...I'm not a little kid."

"It's a stapler, DiNozzo. Enjoy."

Tony laughed and started to set up his desk. Frank left him to it.

"Hey, you the new guy?"

Tony looked up and nodded.

"That's me."

"I heard you were in 'Nam."

Tony nodded, feeling a little guarded. He'd seen more than he wanted to of some people's opinions about the war and the people who had chosen to fight in it.

"So was I. Down in the Mekong Delta. You?"

Tony relaxed.

"Based in Chu Lai for the last couple of years."

"Yeah? Doing what?"

"Sniper and reconnaissance."

"Wow. One of them, huh. I'm Darryl James." He held out his hand. "Glad to have another veteran here. Some of these guys...they don't know what reality is."

"Is it bad?" Tony asked.

"No. A comment here and there, nothing much. It's a good group of guys here. We do our jobs and we support each other. You do your job and no one will give you any crap. ...at least, not much." Darryl smiled. "And if they do, you give it back to them as good as they give you and we'll all have a good laugh. You edgy?"

"A little," Tony admitted. "Only with loud bangs most of the time. That was usually a bad thing back there."

"It goes away. It just takes some time. I had that, too. Lots of guys do, actually."

"Nice to know." And it was. It was good to know that others felt the same things he was experiencing.

"Oh, and let me tell you something else," Darryl said, his voice lowering just slightly.

"What's that?" Tony asked, leaning forward.

"Even when we're the rookies, we have way more experience than anyone here. What you have to do is learn to accept the things that you _don't_ know yet."

"No problems with that, here."

"Good. Then, you'll fit right in."

"I hope so."

Darryl slapped Tony on the back and went on with his business. Tony appreciated the heads up, and he did hope that he wouldn't have to deal with anything too unpleasant while fitting in. This was the hardest thing about coming back home. In Vietnam, he'd been the fun guy, the one everyone liked. He'd found a position that worked well for him and now, he was starting over again.

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and he liked what he was seeing so far. If all he had to deal with were a few comments, he could handle that...so long as no one made fun of the vets like Tim. Tony still felt protective of Tim and hoped that Gibbs had found him and helped him. In fact, he decided that he'd write to Gibbs and ask about it.

After work.

That thought made Tony smile again. He had a job and he was going to be doing something he wanted to do. It seemed like a perfect extension of what he'd been doing for years already.

"DiNozzo!" Frank called out.

"Yes, sir?"

"No _sir_ around here, DiNozzo. You use my name like a normal person."

"Will do."

"We're always behind on reports. I want you to go through those filing cabinets and find the incomplete reports and get them complete. It'll get you into the swing of what we do around here."

"Sounds...great," Tony said.

Frank raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, not great, but I'm happy to be here."

Frank softened slightly.

"That's the kind of thing we need here. If you keep that up, you'll do well."

"I'll do well, then. Besides, I've got a secret weapon."

"What's that?"

Tony grinned and lifted his leg. He pulled up his pant.

"Tube socks. They'll protect my legs at all times. No one can outrun a guy in tube socks."

Frank laughed and walked off.

Tony chuckled to himself and then headed for the filing cabinet. No, this wouldn't be exciting, but it was a start.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two months later..._

Tony stretched with satisfaction before pulling out his keys to let himself into his apartment. He was no longer just working through files. He was doing real police work and it was as fulfilling as he'd thought it would be. The edginess he'd felt was ebbing as Darryl had said it would. He still had his moments, but overall, he was living the life he wanted.

It would be a nice relaxing evening with some TV, and then, tomorrow, he was going to the movies. He loved movies and went to at least one a week, if not more.

"Tony?"

The voice surprised him and he tensed as he spun around.

"Ziva!"

Sure enough. It was her. She was standing behind him, and she looked very different from the woman who had seemed so at home in the jungles of Vietnam. ...but her eyes were the same. Even cleaned up, dressed in quietly fashionable clothes, the look in her eyes showed who she was.

"Yes. You look like you are doing well, Tony," she said.

"I...yeah, I am. You?"

"Perhaps, it will come in time."

"You want to come in? My place isn't much, but it's better than the hallway."

Ziva smiled and nodded. Tony opened the door and let her in. He could see Ziva taking in every aspect of his main room in an instant. It was a small apartment, but Tony hadn't seen the point of getting something larger.

"I take it you enjoy movies?" Ziva asked.

Tony grinned. He had kept every ticket stub from every movie he'd gone to since he got back and displayed it on one of his walls.

"Love 'em. I go to a movie at least once a week. When I first got back, I was going every day."

"Why?"

"I like movies," Tony said. "...but I'm thinking that I'm not really the reason you're here. Right?"

"You were the easiest to find," Ziva said.

"Oh, come on. You couldn't find Gibbs? He's on a military base!"

"Yes...I could find him, but I did not...want to make my presence so obvious. Abby told me many times of New Orleans. I could find her."

"You've seen Abby?" Tony asked, eagerly. "I haven't heard from her in a few weeks. Been pretty busy at work. How is she? ...she doesn't have a new boyfriend, does she?"

Ziva grinned.

"I did not realize the two of you were so close."

Tony flushed and cleared his throat a few times.

"I didn't say that."

"You did not have to. She did not mention a boyfriend to me, but she spoke of you quite often."

"That sounds good. I'll have to cough up the long distance charge and call her."

"That sounds unpleasant."

"It's...a figure of speech. Why are you here, Ziva?"

"I did want to see how you were doing. You seem to be doing well."

"I am. You?"

"Better some days. Worse others."

"Yeah...I can see that." Tony realized they were both standing awkwardly just inside the door. "Hey, you want to sit down?"

Ziva walked to the couch and perched on the edge of it. She didn't seem exactly _relaxed_.

"You hungry?"

"No, but if you are, I will not be offended if you eat."

Tony laughed a little. He wasn't about to eat in front of a guest, even an uninvited one. He sat down.

"Why are you really here, Ziva? I'm not offended. I'm thinking that it has something to do with a mutual acquaintance. One Timothy McGee?"

"You are right. I _am_ looking for Tim. My...sources do not have any information about him after he was discharged."

"Sources?"

"Yes."

She didn't elaborate.

"Well, I know where he is."

"You do?" Ziva asked, sounding eager.

"Yeah. I haven't seen him, but Gibbs told me where he is."

"Where?"

"A little town in Pennsylvania. Stillwater. Tim's staying with Gibbs' dad."

"Why?"

"Because..." Tony hesitated, but then, Ziva was concerned about Tim. She wasn't out to exploit Tim's situation. "...because he's had a real hard time coming back. Gibbs told me that he's got something wrong with him that Ducky's tried to help him with, but he'll forget where he is."

"Forget?"

"He thinks he's in Vietnam. He remembers things...but it's like he's going through them again. I don't know what it means, really."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I asked Gibbs about it, and it's real, but he doesn't know why Tim's like that, either. I've been working and I can't get time off right now, not as a newbie. I don't know if Gibbs knows more, but so far as I know, that's where Tim is and he's been there for a couple of months so far."

"Would I be allowed there?"

"Allowed? I don't know. I haven't been there myself, but I think McGee likes you; so it should be fine."

Ziva nodded.

"You have not had the same trouble?"

"No. I was a little bit on edge when I got back, but that's almost gone now. You?"

"I have...nightmares, but not what you said Tim has experienced."

She now seemed a little uncertain. Tony smiled.

"You sure you don't want to eat something?" he asked. "I was going to order some pizza."

Ziva hesitated.

"Come on. You're not in Vietnam anymore! You're not even in Israel! It's U.S.A. pizza! How much better can you get?"

She smiled.

"Very well. I will eat with you. It is too late to go to Pennsylvania tonight anyway."

"That's right. It is. Any preferences on toppings?"

"I will let you surprise me. I do not have much experience with American pizza."

Tony grinned.

"Excellent. Then, you can tell me about your visit with Abby and how much she misses me."

Tony ordered some pizza and then, he made himself as charming as possible in the hopes of getting Ziva to relax enough to keep her visit from becoming awkward.

He was really good at it, and by the time Ziva left, she was smiling more. He'd given her the address of Gibbs' home, and wished her luck.

He did hope, however, that seeing someone else from his Vietnam period wouldn't make Tim worse.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Jack heard the front bell ring, indicating a customer. He waited to see what else he'd hear. Tim had offered to help do more than stock shelves, but he'd been more than a little apprehensive about it. He'd managed to be conveniently away from the front whenever the bell sounded. This time, Jack had made sure _he_ was in the back, away from the front. Tim had been stocking shelves...and he was the only one in reach. ...and Jack had sneakily asked his neighbor to stop by at this exact time.

There was no sound of a greeting. No sound of movement, in fact. Tim had stopped moving completely. Jack smiled and stayed where he was. Ducky had come and talked to Tim a few times over the past couple of months, and things had been a little better, but there were too many unpleasant moments still, and each one led to a withdrawal. Tim was embarrassed by what happened to him and afraid of it. He had moments when he got irrationally angry, but only once or twice had Jack actually been afraid of him...and only once had Tim damaged anything, and even then, Tim had fixed the chair.

All in all, Tim wasn't the most relaxing house guest, but he wasn't bad.

He kept listening.

"Hey, Tim...is that you back there?"

"Uh...yeah. Hi, Mr. Maughan."

"My name is Hank, Tim. You know that already."

"Do you need something?"

"Yeah, I do. Could you ring me up? I just have a couple of things."

"Uh...yeah...okay."

That uncertainty, bordering on fear. That was what got to Jack every time. Tim was worried about interacting with anyone because he was afraid of what he might do. He was also afraid of what they might think of him. All in all, Tim was a bundle of nerves, and if he could just let go of some of that anxiety, he'd be less likely to do the things he was afraid of doing in the first place.

Jack heard the sound of the till and he smiled. Tim had managed to get through a sale all by himself. After the bell rang, signaling the departure of the customer, Jack walked out into the store.

"Congratulations, Tim."

Tim looked at him and actually smiled a little.

"I'm... It's so stupid."

"No, it's not. I said congratulations and I meant it."

"I wasn't scared of people like this before."

"I'm sure you weren't. Don't stress about it."

"Yeah." Tim looked at the cash register and then back at Jack. "I think I'll get back to stocking."

"Go ahead, but you're doing better, Tim."

Tim had started back to the boxes, but he stopped and turned around.

"I don't _feel_ any better," he said, sounding angry. "I don't feel like I'm any better than I was last week, last month or last year. I don't feel changed in any way. I don't feel like anything is improved!" He turned around, grabbed a trinket off the shelf and threw it as hard as he could at the wall.

Then, he stopped and swore feelingly. Jack waited to see if he was angry enough to throw something else. Tim was breathing heavily, not facing Jack at all. After a few seconds, Tim's breathing changed. It wasn't agitated. It was remorseful.

"I'm sorry," Tim said. "I just...I got so...mad."

"It's broken?" Jack asked, although with how hard Tim had thrown it, he would have been surprised if it hadn't been destroyed.

Tim nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I'll pay for it."

"All right."

"I don't know why I get so mad about things. I...I wasn't really..."

"...like this before. I know."

"I don't know," Tim said. "Maybe there's something more wrong with me than anything Ducky can fix, Jack. Nothing has really changed."

"Yet. Nothing has really changed _yet_, Tim. I can see that it's hard for you, but you know that it hasn't been very long."

Tim shrugged.

"Long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

"For me to see something improving," Tim said. "Maybe I should just get out of your hair, Jack. You won't have to worry about my breaking anything or getting mad at you or anything or dragging you into my hallucinations. It'd be a lot easier for you without me here."

"My hair can take it, Tim," Jack said. "Where would you go?"

"I don't know."

"Then, you're not leaving here."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd end up going nowhere, and my son would never forgive me for that."

Tim hitched his shoulder.

"I'll bet he would."

"You know my son. He won't accept that. I don't care what you tell me, Tim. I'm not going to give up on you. Don't you give up on yourself."

Tim turned away.

"This is wrong."

"What is?" Jack asked.

"This...it's all wrong."

Tim turned back to him and there were tears in his eyes which surprised Jack. The only time Tim really showed that kind of emotion was in the midst or right after the moments where he couldn't remember where he was.

"It's wrong...and I hate it. I have to get some air."

Tim spun around and ran out of the store. Jack was left alone, wondering what had just happened, what he'd said to get that kind of response. However, he wanted to give Tim his space and not force him to be more open than he wanted to be.

Jack stayed at his store for the rest of the day, but Tim didn't come back. He was a little worried, but he decided to trust Tim, that he'd do the right thing.

At the end of the day, he went home, and he saw Tim sitting out on the steps. It continually interested Jack that Tim could make himself look so small when he was actually so tall. He walked over and creakily sat down beside Tim.

"So...you want to talk about it?"

Tim stared at his clasped hands.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Absolutely. You're my guest. It doesn't matter what I want. It matters what you think is best for _you_."

Tim was silent for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid to go home," Tim said softly. "I'm afraid to see my dad again...and have him tell me that I'm no longer welcome, that I broke our agreement by coming back from Vietnam before the war was over. I'm afraid that he'll tell me I'm not part of the family anymore. He's my dad, and that's what I'm afraid he'll do because he thinks that I've betrayed the family honor by going to Vietnam at all."

"I'm sorry for that, Tim," Jack said.

"And you have absolutely no reason to trust me, to accept me, to show any respect or concern. You have no reason to think that I'm trustworthy, that I'm anything but a nut, but you're trying to help me. Over and over you've tried. Why is it that I can't rely on my own family, but I can rely on you? It's not right."

"Are you sure that you can't?"

"I'm too afraid to find out."

"If so, then, you're not ready to find out, anyway," Jack pointed out. "So hang around here for a while longer unless you have a better place to go. That Ducky will be happy to come by when he can, and you can work on not being afraid of the whole human race."

Tim smiled a little.

"It's not everyone."

"I know. It's really yourself more than anyone else, isn't it."

"Yeah."

"Well, you helped your first customer today and it didn't go so bad, did it?"

"No. I guess not."

"That's something, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"So you can try to do a little bit more tomorrow. I'm not going to throw you in the deep end to see if you'll drown this time. Take it slow, and see how things go."

"Gibbs said that you fought in the war."

"The first world war, yes. I was a little worried about it, but I did it anyway. Signed up right when the U.S. got involved."

"Did you ever see anyone like me?" Tim asked.

"Not exactly like, but yeah. Something like you. They couldn't let go of the war. It was like they'd taken it home with them, lodged inside. Some would get mad like you do. The worst was, because they didn't know how to deal with it, that anger was taken out on the people around them. Some would drink to forget. Some put it aside, but even those of us who could do that weren't the same. War changes you."

"You didn't have this?" Tim asked.

"No, but it was hard to let the trenches stay in Europe," Jack said. Even over 50 years later, he could still easily bring to mind all the horrors of trench warfare. "I'd wake up in the night, thinking that the rats were crawling over me like they would in the trenches. Those brown rats that would eat the corpses and then, the smell. You almost forgot about it until you left the trenches for a little while. Then, you came back and...it hit you. Decomposing bodies, the attempts at disinfection, the poison gas...and just all those men wedged together in bad conditions."

Then, suddenly, Jack noticed how tense Tim was getting as he let himself fall into reminiscences about his own past. He was careful as he put a calming hand on Tim's back.

"Sorry, son. It's easy to remember. Much harder to forget."

He let the silence fall as Tim remained tense. He figured that Tim might do better if he had a chance _not_ to get so far into the memories.

...or maybe not. Maybe talking about it without thinking he was actually there would help.

"Tell me," he said.

"Tell you what?" Tim asked.

"What it is that you're thinking about that has you wound so tight."

Tim let out a laugh. It sounded false.

"Vietnam."

"Come on, Tim. You can trust me. You know that."

"I don't like talking about it."

"I know...and that probably means it'll help if you do. The brain is strange like that. We don't want to do the things that'll help the most."

Jack still had his hand on Tim's back, maybe as a way of trying to get him to relax enough to talk. Tim always resisted talking about what he'd experienced because he relived it so often.

"You don't have to. I won't force you, but you should think about it. Now, I'll start getting dinner."

Jack got up and went into the house. True to his word, he headed to the kitchen to start dinner. After about ten minutes, he heard the front door open and close. Tim walked into the kitchen and sat down on a stool.

"The first battle was the worst," Tim said quietly.

Jack waited without comment. He looked at Tim to let him know that he was listening, but he let him go at his own pace.

"We won, but I lost a lot of my friends that day. We'd said that we were going to serve our time together, that we were going to..." Tim took a breath. "We didn't. I watched a lot of my friends get cut down in front of me. And then...we had to...do a field amputation. And he died anyway. He was my closest friend. He... We cut off his leg, but he still died. And he died in more pain than he would have been otherwise. The last thing I did to him was cause him pain."

"You were trying to save him," Jack said, keeping his voice low and calm.

Tim cleared his throat. "Well, we didn't succeed and the next mortar took out the other guy with me. The mortars were...just..."

Jack took the pan off the stove. He walked over beside Tim who was staring at the counter, although Jack would wager that he wasn't seeing it.

"You didn't know what it would be like."

"No. How could any boot camp really show what...what would happen out there?"

"Training can't. Training just gives you the routines and the abilities to the point that you can't forget, even when a mortar is exploding above your head. Nothing can prepare you for what war really is. For how dirty, cruel, brutal...horrific it is."

"Yeah."

"That's your worst experience?"

"Actually, no. It's not."

There was a knock on the door.

"I'll see who this is and then, we can have dinner."

Tim nodded.

Jack headed for the front door, wishing that whoever it was had waited just a little bit longer, particularly when Tim was finally opening up a little.

He opened the door and saw a rather exotic-looking woman standing there, with an expression of uncertainty on her face...which somehow seemed out of place.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked, keeping his question polite.

"I am...looking for someone. I think I am in the right place."

She had an accent that he didn't recognize.

"Who are you looking for?" Jack asked. He figured he knew, but he wasn't going to open Tim up to scrutiny or attack.

"I am looking for..." Then, she stopped and looked beyond Jack.

"Ziva?"


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Jack turned and saw Tim standing behind him in shock.

"Tim!" Ziva said with a smile.

"What...are you doing here?"

"I came to see you. ...if that is all right."

Jack smiled at the mutual awkwardness.

"Have you eaten, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes. I am not hungry," she said.

"Is it all right if she comes in, Tim?"

Tim nodded, although he looked more than a little uncertain about it. Jack stood back and gestured for Ziva to come in.

"I'm Jack Gibbs. You're...Ziva?"

"Yes. Ziva David."

"That's not a name I know," Jack said. "Where are you from?"

"Israel."

"Oh."

Ziva looked around the room with interest and then back at Tim.

"Is it all right that I am here, Tim?" she asked.

Tim nodded slowly.

"I never thought...I'd see you...again."

Ziva smiled a little.

"I thought the same, but my father allowed me to come. Tony told me where you were."

"Tony?"

"Yes. I went to New Orleans and spoke to Abby. She told me where Tony was. Tony told me where you were."

"You went through all that...just to...visit?"

"Yes."

Jack smiled. Awkward as this was, he thought it might be a good thing for Tim. The more people who expressed an interest in his well-being, the better.

"You two have a chat. I'll go make sure that dinner doesn't burn."

"Oh...I did not want to interrupt," Ziva said quickly. "I can wait while you eat."

Jack shook his head. "No, it can wait. Go on and talk. I can see that you have lots to say."

He headed back to the kitchen and heard Tim awkwardly invite Ziva to sit down. Then, he tried to give them privacy, although he did keep an ear out for another of Tim's disturbing moments. This Ziva wouldn't know about them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim still couldn't quite wrap his mind around Ziva actually _being_ here, sitting in Jack's living room...in Pennsylvania. She was one of those people he associated with Vietnam and only with Vietnam. To see her somewhere else was disconcerting.

"Tony said that you have had some problems," Ziva said.

Tim flushed and nodded.

"Yeah. Comes with the territory of being a wimp."

"You are not weak, Tim. That much I know. The rest of it...I cannot say. You still have that look in your eye."

"What look?"

"The same one you had in Vietnam, only worse. You are lost and you are trying to find your place."

"Lost? I know where I am, Ziva."

"I do not know how to explain it in English, but it is like you are searching for something or for someone only you do not think you can find it. I know that feeling."

Tim didn't want to start talking about his problems. They consumed far too much of his mind as it was.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to thank you."

"No! You've already done that and you repaid any debt you might have owed me," Tim said. "I don't want you to thank me again."

"It is not just that," Ziva said quickly.

"Then, what?"

"I have...missed you, Tim, and I have felt alone. Alone while I am surrounded by people with a view of life that I no longer share."

"What do you mean?"

"My father is concerned with countries. With governments. Causes. That was what I cared about before, too. But it has changed for me. It was very hard to...to leave Vietnam, knowing that many would die after your country left. I still think of them. It is not that I do not worry about Israel and who will attack us next, but I care so much more about the people. I cannot explain this to anyone in Israel because they are concerned with a country. I thought you would understand how I feel."

Tim had been trying so hard to forget Vietnam that, even though he'd failed to do so, all that remained was the horror of it, the people he'd killed, not the people he'd helped or tried to help. He was silent, not because he was surprised by what Ziva said but because he was trying to touch that same feeling, the feeling that had led him to such hatred of the VC, the people he had not known nearly enough.

"Did you really get to know them?" he asked.

"Yes. They helped me a lot."

Tim smiled wistfully. "I'm envious."

"Why?"

"Because...most of the time...I saw them dead, not alive."

Ziva nodded. She scooted closer to him and Tim was surprised when she took hold of his hand.

"You were fighting for them. That is important."

"I don't know how much I really was, though," Tim said. "There were a lot of times when I was just...fighting without thinking about why."

"But you made the choice to come."

"Because my country asked for it."

"You cared."

Tim smiled a little and looked at her.

"Not as much as you, I don't think."

"I was with them more. My life depended on them sometimes."

"Ziva...was it so important to find _me_? You found Abby and Tony. I'm sure you could have found Gibbs, too."

"You are the one I am connected to," Ziva said. "You saved my life, risking your own. You made a connection...a _link_? That is not something I can ignore. And you are still hurting. I do not want that to be what you have to feel. I have had nightmares about the things I saw in Vietnam, the people I could not save."

Tim looked at Ziva's hand.

"I have nightmares about the people I killed...and the people I saw die."

"I have no regrets about those I killed. They were animals and deserved to die."

"I guess that's the difference between us," Tim said softly. "I regret killing even the ones who deserved it. I've never wanted to be a killer."

"That is what I was raised to be."

Tim took a breath. He felt very uncomfortable but he was not falling into his memories. He definitely wasn't enjoying the feeling, though.

"I will not stay long," Ziva said into the tense silence. "I was not sure you would believe a letter. I do not know if you have truly heard me, even now." She took Tim's other hand and pulled him around to face her. "I will always care for you, Tim. I will always remember you. I may not be able to see you often. I may be pulled back into fighting for Israel in place of all that I have learned about the world, and it is a worthy fight. ...but something that requires all of me. I am sorry if I have caused you more pain."

Tim tightened his fingers around Ziva's hands.

"No. You haven't. It's all my messed up head, Ziva. Honestly, I can't believe that you'd come all this way just to say thanks again, and I just..." He took a breath. "I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of forgetting where I am again. I don't want you to see that part of who I am now. I just..." Tim let her go and stood up. He walked to the back door and left the house. In the cooler air, he could remember where he was. Vietnam never felt like this.

"Tim, wait. Please."

Tim stopped but didn't turn around.

"Ziva, I can't help you. I wish I could. I really wish I could, but I can't. I can't even help myself."

"You can help me, Tim."

"How?"

"The same way you helped me before."

"I don't think I need to defy my squad again...and I don't have a squad anyway."

Ziva walked around to face him.

"That is not what I meant."

Slowly, she stepped closer to him. Then, equally slowly, she put her arms around him and she hugged him. Tim didn't remember ever hugging Ziva before, but after he got over the surprise, he returned the gesture.

"I never hugged you," he said softly, although he didn't pull away.

"I know...but you let me get close to you."

"When?" Tim asked, genuinely confused.

Ziva stood back and smiled at him, unoffended by his lapse.

"When we were tracking your team to save them. We stopped for the night and I moved close to you so that I could feel you. You did not pull away and I think you wanted to. I needed to have someone close to me. I needed to get away from...from the isolation of working alone all the time. You gave that to me, and I am grateful for that."

Tim remembered that night now. His mind had been on the pain in his leg and whether or not they'd save Gibbs and Tony. Then, he had felt Ziva scoot over so that they were touching. He had been as surprised then as he was now. He had actually wondered if she was going to do something more than that.

"I didn't know that was what I was doing," Tim said.

"It does not matter. If I had asked, you would have done the same thing."

"You seem to think that I'm this amazing person," Tim said. "I'm not, Ziva."

"You are not amazing, Tim. You are human and there are more people who are not human than you may know. It is...nice to find a truly human being. That means more than being amazing."

Tim flushed.

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I'm really...self-centered right now. All I can do is think about myself. Not very impressive, right?"

Ziva smiled and hugged him again.

"Sometimes, the world is very small. I do not expect you to be perfect."

Tim smiled a little sheepishly.

"It's a good thing...because I never will be." He took a breath. "I'd just like to have an ordinary life again. That's what my life was before I went to Vietnam."

"My life was never ordinary," Ziva said. "When I was a child, we were sometimes attacked for what we were, mostly with words. When I was older, we moved to a place where we have been threatened with bombs from all sides. I do not think I know what an ordinary life is like."

"A family who loves you," Tim said. "A place you want to be. A job you enjoy. You're not important. You're not killing people. You just get to live."

Ziva sighed. "That does not sound ordinary. That sounds like heaven."

Tim looked at Ziva, _really_ looked at her, for perhaps the first time. She was close to his age, and even though she had faced much more in her life than he had, he could feel a sense of camaraderie with her...and in the same way that he had not wanted to let her just disappear after she'd helped them, he couldn't just let her walk away now.

"Have you really eaten?" he asked her. "Or were you just pretending so that you didn't have to make Jack feel obligated to invite you to join us?"

Ziva smiled and didn't answer.

"Because I'm inviting you to join us for dinner. Do you have someplace to stay tonight because there's an extra room here. I can't guarantee that I'll stay sane, but you're more than welcome here. You saved _my_ life, too, Ziva. ...and don't say that it's because you had to. You went far beyond what you might have owed me. You didn't just save my life. You saved all our lives." He took a breath and let out one more thing, something he didn't think he could have said at any other time. "And you saved me in more ways than one."

"What do you mean?" Ziva asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"You wouldn't let me run."

"When?"

"On the way to Da Nang. I was ready to go, to throw everything I'd gained to the wind in the hopes of preserving something I'm not even sure exists."

"You did not ask."

"I didn't have to. I knew your answer was no. That's why you were with me, wasn't it?" Tim asked. "We didn't talk about it, but you wouldn't let me leave. If I had been alone..."

"You did not seem to think that leaving Vietnam was a good thing."

"I know. I still don't, but running away wouldn't have been a good idea, either. It would have been worse. I can admit that now. Thank you for that."

Ziva suddenly grinned.

"How hard was that to say?"

Tim smiled in response.

"You have no idea."

Ziva laughed.

"So...you want to stay for dinner? You're more than welcome."

"Yes, I will."

"And you need a place to stay tonight?"

"You are sure I would not be imposing?"

"Positive. If _I'm_ not imposing, you're definitely not," Tim said. "I'm probably the most difficult houseguest ever. You can't possibly be worse."

"If you put it that way," Ziva said, "I will stay tonight...but I cannot stay long. I must get back to Israel."

"I understand."

Tim couldn't explain it, but as they walked into the house, he felt a slight loosening of the omnipresent tightness in his chest.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Ziva was lying awake in the bed Jack had made up for her. It was strange to be in this place that was so quiet. It was a rural space that was untouched by war. She was envious of a person who could live here.

There was a soft sound and she sat up. Silence.

Then, she heard it again, a little louder. Although she was a stranger in the house, she didn't hesitate to get up and investigate. She wouldn't be able to sleep without knowing.

She followed the sound to a closed door.

Then, there was a thump.

And silence. Curious, she opened the door, not thinking about what she might see.

What she saw was Tim, sitting in the corner of a dark room, covering his head with his clenched fists. All he was doing was breathing, but it was a panicked breathing.

"Tim?"

"Go away. Go away... don't...come closer..."

"What is wrong?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Stay away..."

Ziva knelt down in front of him and thought about what to do. Tony had told her that there was something going wrong with Tim. She was seeing that now, but what to do about it? Tim was telling her to stay away, but she didn't like to leave him in that state. He seemed to be pained by whatever he was thinking about.

Was he actually awake? She wasn't sure.

"Tim, can you hear me?"

"Don't...Ziva..."

She started to reach out to him. A hand on her shoulder startled her and she turned to confront a potential threat. It was Jack. He had an unsurprised expression on his face, lit by the beam of light coming in from the hall.

"Be careful."

"He is asleep, still?"

"No. He's awake...mostly, but he's still half in the dream, whatever it is. He's never attacked me, but he's come close."

"What is the solution?" Ziva asked.

"For him to wake up all the way. It's a nightmare. It's not like the other things that happen. He just needs to wake up fully and he'll be all right."

Ziva nodded and looked back.

"I am stronger than I look," she said grimly. "I will wake him up and be ready for resistance."

"You sure? He'll wake up on his own, eventually."

"How long?"

"It can take a while, sometimes."

Ziva shook her head. "I will not leave him to suffer like this if I can prevent it."

She turned back and didn't hesitate. She took hold of Tim's wrists and carefully but firmly pulled them down from his head. Tim started to struggle against her grip and she could see the fear that would lead him to attack...until he was truly awake and thinking. She tightened her hold of his wrists and turned his body around so that she was almost pinning him to her. He was strong and it really was taking all of her strength to hold him back.

"Wake up, Tim. You are safe here," she said right into his ear.

Tim continued to fight against her for a few minutes, until Ziva felt tired out by the effort of keeping him still. Then, he suddenly went slack in her arms.

"Tim?"

"Ziva...what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"I heard a sound," Ziva said as she released him.

Tim turned around and looked at her and then over her shoulder at Jack.

"You were asleep, Tim," Jack said.

Tim nodded and then looked at Ziva again.

"I didn't want you to see me like that," he said and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"I do not think less of you."

"I do," Tim said.

Ziva smiled sadly. Yes, he would. ...but so would she if she were honest about it. She would never want anyone to see her in such a state of vulnerability.

Tim took a breath and looked at her and at Jack.

"I'm awake now. You don't have to stay."

"May I stay with you?" Ziva asked.

Tim flushed.

Ziva smiled again as she realized what he was thinking.

"To _talk_."

"It's late," Tim said. "You must be tired."

"I am fine. I think you will be awake."

"Yeah, probably. I don't like to go to sleep right after these things. I usually have more nightmares if I do."

"I will sit up with you, then. If you do not mind."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

Ziva sat down.

"Looks like we're fine, Jack," Tim said with a hesitant smile.

"All right. Be good," Jack said.

Tim flushed again as Jack left the room. Ziva stood. Tim did as well before she could put out her hand. He walked back to his bed and sat down on the edge, running his hand over his head. Ziva sat down beside him.

She thought about speaking more, but then, she thought back to the moments that had meant the most to her in Vietnam. They had been silent.

So, she didn't say a word. Instead, she put her hand on his knee. Tim looked at her and then covered her hand with his. They sat there for a while without speaking and then, remaining silent, after about half an hour, Tim lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Ziva followed suit. He looked over at her and smiled and then went back to staring at the ceiling.

They lay there together until Tim fell asleep, almost relaxed. Ziva rolled onto her side and looked at him. Seeing him asleep was like seeing a different person. All the worry lines were gone. His eyes were closed and she couldn't see his turmoil. He was just a man, sleeping on the bed.

For one wild moment, she thought about what could have been had they met somewhere other than a war zone.

But only for a moment.

Slowly, she got to her feet and quietly left the room.

It was easy to go to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva ended up staying for a few days. During the day, she was in the store with Tim and Jack. She could almost forget what she had to go back to. There was no particular deadline for her, but eventually...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lugged another box into the store and set it down. He saw Ziva standing in front of the candy, looking at a box of Junior Mints. She was much too pensive for staring at candy. He walked over and, careful of startling her (he knew how much he disliked being startled), he made sure he was in view as he approached.

"Ziva?" he said softly.

She looked at him and smiled.

"I always loved the times when Abba would bring home sweets for us when we were children. I do not eat much of it now, but it is something that makes me think of...happier times. When life was simpler."

Tim could see it. He looked at the candies and then grinned. He stepped next to her and picked out a candy necklace. He opened the package (making a mental note to pay Jack for it) and gently stretched out the elastic and put it over Ziva's head so that she was wearing the necklace.

"What is this?"

"It's a candy necklace. You eat the individual pieces, taking as much time as you want. The candy isn't the fanciest, but my sister always loved these."

Ziva pulled on the elastic and experimentally bit off one of the pieces of candy. She crunched it and Tim raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

She feigned deep thought and then smiled.

"It is very nice. I like it."

"Good."

Tim suddenly felt a pang. Ziva was going to say that she had to leave. He could see it.

"It has been wonderful here," Ziva said.

"But you have to go."

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Just a feeling. I know you do, and there's no way that you could turn your back on your country, on your family...but I'll miss you."

"I will miss you, as well. ...and I will miss this...piece of heaven. If I can ever find a quiet place like this...I would love to stay there forever."

"I wouldn't mind a quiet place, either."

"You miss your family?"

"Yeah."

"You are hiding from them."

"I am," Tim said. No sense in lying to Ziva.

"For how long?"

"Until I feel strong enough to face the possibility of losing them," he said. "And I don't want them to see me like I am."

"You are strong, and there is nothing shameful in who you are and your struggles."

"You don't need to worry about me, Ziva. You've done a lot for me just by being here."

Ziva just smiled and patted his cheek gently.

"I am not just saying words. I mean what I say. You _are_ stronger than you think, but do not let anyone force you. You have sacrificed too much by allowing others to force you into places you should not have been. I will not try to tell you what to do. Just know that I am always grateful to you and that, even if we never see each other again, I will always remember you."

Tim wished he could give something back to Ziva, but he couldn't think of a single thing. Instead, he just hugged her.

"Thank you," she said.

"Why are there boxes on the floor?" Jack called.

Tim pulled back from Ziva and smiled. She ate another piece of the necklace and headed back to help restock.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The next morning, Tim went with Ziva to the bus depot to see her off. There was still some awkwardness, but also some regret at their parting. The days they'd spent together in a safe space had been good for them both.

The bus came into the depot. It was time for her to leave.

"Ziva...wait," Tim said.

"What?"

"Do you have...an address that...you'd feel okay giving me?"

Ziva smiled.

"Yes. Why?"

"I know you have to leave, but...I don't want to forget you, either."

Ziva hesitated and then she wrote out an address on the bus schedule. Then, she gave it to him.

"This is not my home. It is a family friend."

Tim nodded and looked at the address for someone named Schmiel. He hoped it was real. He guessed he'd find out...eventually.

"Thank you for coming, Ziva."

"Thank you letting me, for being out there."

They hugged once more and then Ziva got on the bus and left, headed back to Israel, to a life that would likely be difficult and dangerous. Tim hoped for the best for her...and it had been nice to have something else to think about.

It was the first intrusion from the outside world on his sanctuary here...and, to Tim's surprise, it hadn't been too bad.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

_Six months later..._

Sarah looked in the mail box. Nothing. She hadn't heard from Tim since Gibbs had gone to talk to him. Gibbs had told her mom that Tim had needed time to himself and he'd be away, but he was safe. What that meant...who knew. Dad hadn't said anything about it which was irritating but not surprising. Still, even knowing that Tim was supposedly all right, she still couldn't help but worry about him. He hadn't been all right before. Was he suddenly better? It was getting close to Christmas now, and she didn't want to face another year with Tim gone for Christmas, especially when she knew that he wasn't in Vietnam. He could be home!

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony sat on the porch and waited. Luckily, it wasn't too cold, and Tony had been able to adjust to the very different climate. He wasn't sure what to expect from his idea, but he figured it couldn't hurt.

"What are you doing here, DiNozzo?"

Tony looked up and grinned.

"Hey, Gibbs. Merry Christmas."

"Not Christmas yet," Gibbs said and walked up the steps to his front door. "Come on in."

Tony got up and followed, interested to see what style would govern Gibbs' home. He was unsurprised by how stark it was. Basic furnishings, very few pictures, although there was one on the mantle of a family. Gibbs' family. The one he'd said was dead. The house was small, but clean.

"Nice place, Gibbs."

"Thanks. What brings you here?" he asked.

"I'm on a forced vacation," Tony said ruefully.

"Forced?"

"Got a bit keyed up during a takedown. Frank said that I needed to take some time to get back in my right mind. So he gave me two weeks' vacation."

"Two weeks?"

"Yeah. Crazy, huh? I figure that I must have done something right there."

"Keyed up?" Gibbs asked.

"Kind of...forgot where I was," Tony admitted. "Not exactly, but...for a minute...it wasn't the scummy drug dealer I was chasing down. It was..."

"Charlie?"

"Yeah. Never happened to me before. Kind of freaked me out, to be honest."

"You admitted it?"

"Frank saw it. I figured it would be best to come clean. I'm supposed to enjoy Christmas and then pay for his generosity by working on New Year's."

Gibbs chuckled.

"Why come here?"

"I missed your shining happy face, Gibbs," Tony said with a cheeky grin.

Gibbs walked by him toward the kitchen and gave him a smack on the back of his head.

"Hungry?"

"Starved."

"Come on, then."

Tony followed once again, easily falling back into his usual habits when with Gibbs.

"New Orleans?" Gibbs asked as he pulled some tupperware containers out of the fridge.

Tony raised an eyebrow at the unexpected sign of domesticity.

"Don't ask," Gibbs said.

Tony suppressed a chuckle.

"I'm not going there. Abby's coming to Baltimore. Said she wanted to see what Christmas was like on the East Coast."

"Your dad?"

"Ah, who knows. A deal here, a network there. Haven't heard from him in months. Don't expect that to change," Tony said. "Abby's more entertaining anyway, but she's working until a couple of days before Christmas. I have some time on my hands."

Gibbs smiled a little.

"So why are you here?"

Tony knew it was time to stop beating around the bush.

"I thought that you could take me up to your dad's place...so we could visit McGee. I'm assuming he's still there?"

"Haven't heard anything different," Gibbs said.

He set a plate of rewarmed meat and potatoes in front of Tony and started eating himself.

"You haven't gone up there?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"Not much time."

"Have you heard anything?"

"Ducky says he's doing better. Dad says the same."

"But he's still there. Hasn't been to his family?"

"Nope."

"I don't like that, Gibbs," Tony said.

"His choice."

"Yeah. Maybe."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then, Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have to make a request for leave. Might take a couple of days."

"I've got a couple of days," Tony said.

"You staying here?"

"If you've got room."

"Spare room by the bathroom. I get up early."

"Thanks."

They finished eating and then Gibbs went to a door Tony hadn't noticed before. When he opened it, Tony saw the steps going down.

"What's down there?"

"A basement."

But Gibbs gestured and Tony eagerly followed, sure that there was something down there.

And there was.

A boat.

"You're building a boat? Why?"

"Why not?"

"I didn't know you sailed."

"I don't. Not much."

Tony gave up trying to get anything more out of Gibbs tonight. He was clearly in a non-speaking mood.

"It helps me relax."

That made sense to Tony. He had his movies.

"I'll be up for a while. You can do whatever."

"Thanks."

He started up the stairs.

"Nice to see you again, DiNozzo."

"You, too, Gibbs."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three days later..._

"I can't even picture you being in a place like this," Tony said as they entered the boundaries of Stillwater.

Gibbs just chuckled.

"I didn't grow up in Vietnam, Tony."

"Yeah, I know that...but...this is so...peaceful."

"Yep."

Gibbs pulled up at the store, knowing that was where his dad would be. He got out of the car and watched with some amusement as Tony looked around with an air of amazement...as if he'd never seen anything more amazing than Stillwater.

"Come on, Tony. Dad'll be in the store."

Tony nodded and followed. Gibbs stepped into the store.

"Dad?" he called out.

"Back here, Leroy!"

Gibbs strode to the back of the store. Jack was checking his stocks.

"Glad you made it," he said and looked up. "This Tony?"

Gibbs nodded.

Tony stepped forward eagerly and stuck out his hand.

"Tony DiNozzo."

Jack smiled and shook Tony's hand.

"Jack. How long will you be staying?"

"Just a few days."

"Christmas, Leroy?"

"I don't know if I can make it back up here, Dad."

"Then, I guess I'll have to come to you." He focused on Tony. "And you? I hear you're a police detective."

"On my better days."

Jack smiled. "You have bad days?"

"Some. Not too many."

"Doesn't sound too bad, then."

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Jack sighed a little but smiled.

"He's home. Had a really bad night. Spent at least some part of it in the tree."

"In a tree?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. We had a bit of a storm last night. Wind, some snow. He heard the wind shaking the house. It woke him up and, I guess, he thought he had to get to someplace safe. Don't know why the tree was safe, but he was sure shivering when I found him there this morning. I checked him out, made sure he wasn't frozen solid, made him go in and take a hot bath and made him eat some oatmeal for breakfast. Then, I told him that he was staying home in bed while I came to the store. He didn't want to. Felt like he was being weak again, but I made him stay."

"He's all right?" Tony asked.

"He'll be fine. It was a bit of a blow for him, though. He'd been doing a lot better the last few weeks. Only one of his little moments a week for the last month. Nightmares still give him trouble, but not the whatever they are. This was a pretty big set back. I don't know if he'd have remembered that he could go inside before it was too late."

"And you left him alone, Dad?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, I did, Leroy. Because there's something that young man needs more than an old man watching him."

"What's that?"

Jack smiled. "An old man trusting him to do the right thing. If you want to go see him, that's fine. I'll see you this evening."

Gibbs could see that Jack meant what he said and, given that he'd been with Tim almost exclusively, he was willing to trust his dad.

"We'll see you, Dad."

"All right, son."

Gibbs looked at Tony who was still a bit agog at the store.

"Close your mouth, DiNozzo. Let's go."

Jack grabbed a candy cane from the jar on the front counter and gave it to Tony.

"Here you go. Merry Christmas."

Tony grinned and took it.

"Thanks, Jack."

"You're welcome. Leroy, here's one for you, too."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, but he took the candy cane, unwrapped it and stuck the straight end in his mouth. Then, he walked back out to his car and he and Tony headed home to see what was going on with Tim.

"So is this where you grew up?" Tony asked as they got out of the car.

"Yeah."

"Looks normal."

Gibbs chuckled. "It is."

He walked into the house and saw what was actually a rather nice sight, all things considered.

There was a fire crackling in the fireplace. Tim was curled up on the couch facing the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket. And he was asleep. There was a book on the floor.

Gibbs smiled. He wondered if Tim had been that relaxed in years. As he and Tony watched, Tim shifted position and his mouth fell open...leading to some near-snoring.

"I don't see any reason to wake him up, Gibbs," Tony said softly. "I can wait."

Gibbs nodded in agreement. If Tim was sleeping deeply...and without trouble, it was best to let him continue on that way.

Unfortunately, the fire didn't agree. One of the logs fell and the others settled with some audible popping. Tim sat up quickly, rubbing at his face and looking around. The relaxed expression was gone, but the one that replaced wasn't as bad as it had been. Tim rubbed his head a few times and then let out a loud exhalation. He shook his head. He hadn't yet noticed Tony and Gibbs standing behind him. He shivered once and stretched. Then, finally, he stood up and turned.

...and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his old team standing there. His mouth opened but he didn't say anything. Whatever was going through his head, he hadn't found the words to express it.

"Hey, McGee," Tony said. "How's it going?"

"Uh...I..."

Then, Tim seemed to get himself in gear. He burst into motion, cleaning up the living room. Talking all the while.

"I didn't...realize that you would be here so...so soon. I mean...uh...Jack told me that you were both coming. He didn't want me to freak out or anything if I got surprised. So I knew and everything, but...but I wasn't...I didn't mean to fall asleep on the couch. I was just...and..."

"Tim, it's all right," Gibbs said, keeping his voice at a normal level even as he cut through Tim's anxious rambling.

Tim stopped talking.

"Sorry. I told myself I was going to act normal when you got here...but, well..."

"You had a bad night," Tony said. "That's okay."

Tim flushed. "Oh...Jack told you?"

"Yeah."

Tim nodded.

"I didn't...really...want..." He sighed. "I guess it doesn't make a difference. It's not like you guys didn't know I was a wimp already anyway."

"You're not a wimp, McGee," Tony said. "You know why I could come here right now?"

Tim shook his head.

"Because we were going after a drug dealer. He was shooting. We were shooting back. ...and I forgot what I was doing. I forgot he was a drug dealer. I thought he was one of the Viet Cong. I wigged out. If that's even a little bit of what you've been dealing with...you're not a wimp. It's scary when it happens, and I hope it never happens to me again."

"That's the first time?"

"Yeah."

Tim smiled weakly. "Lucky you." He turned back to the couch and picked up the blanket again. He began to fold it up.

"You all recovered, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"From _what_?" Tim asked, sounding angry.

"From the night you spent in a tree," he said, bluntly.

That seemed to work. Tim sighed and set the folded blanket on the couch.

"Yeah. Pretty much. All my stupidity didn't manage to kill me off."

"Tim..." Tony began.

"Don't," Tim said, sounding angry again. "Don't, please. No patronizing statements about how it'll be okay. How I'm a great person. How..."

"What's this, Tim?" Gibbs asked, picking up an envelope from the floor. He wanted to get Tim away from that anger, the frustration that he still dealt with.

He held it out. Tim took it and swallowed awkwardly. He looked at the envelope.

"What is it?"

Tim passed the envelope back and forth.

"It's just a...a letter...and...some stuff. For Ziva."

"Ziva? You're talking to her, still?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. She came here to visit and...and I think she needs a friend. Why she wants me to be a friend, I don't know, but I'm...sending her things. Sometimes, just letters; sometimes with...other things."

Tony smiled.

"Like what?"

"Candy."

Tony chuckled.

"You're sending candy to Ziva?"

"Don't make fun of me, Tony," Tim said. "Please?"

"I'm not! I swear!" Tony said quickly. "I think it's great. I would never think of doing this. Has she said anything?"

Tim chanced a smile. "Yeah...a little. Not much. She doesn't have a lot of time to write back, I think. She's...doing other things."

"That's fun. Anything more to it than that?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. It's a friendship...but, Tony, it's one that started because she was almost gang-raped. It started because I stopped that, but it's not the kind of...foundation for more. We met in the middle of a war, seeing the worst that people can be. I don't want to give up the connection we have, but we can't have more than that."

Tim had thought about that a lot, Gibbs could see. He wasn't just saying it. Probably the both of them knew that they had to accept that there wasn't a realistic chance even to see if more was possible.

"So...what are you sending her this time?" Tony asked.

"SweeTarts. She's never had them before."

"Good choice. Easy to mail."

"Yeah. I just need to drop it in the mail."

Gibbs walked over and sat down on a chair. Tony sat down on the couch. Tim took the cue. He set the blanket on the coffee table and sat down himself.

"Why did you come?" Tim asked.

"I haven't seen you since you left Vietnam," Tony said. "We served together, man. And after I heard the trouble you were having, I really did want to come and see you before, but I'm the new guy and I'm low on the totem pole."

"I made you a promise, Tim," Gibbs said.

"You don't have to keep it," Tim said. "We're not a team anymore. We're not in Vietnam. I'm not even a Marine."

"Once a Marine, always a Marine," Gibbs said. "And we don't leave a man behind."

Tim stared at the floor for a few minutes and then he looked at the two of them.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he confessed. "...or I still don't know what to do. I don't lose it as much as I was, but you saw. I get mad. I could have died this morning."

"What were you thinking?" Gibbs asked.

"I heard someone coming. No place to hide. I climbed the tree, ready to wait until it was safe."

"Wait...that actually happened," Tony said. "I remember. You said that you had to sit in a tree all night. Is that what you were...remembering?"

"I guess so. I don't really know. I just know that I felt like I needed to be safe and that meant getting into a tree. I was doing better, you know. And then..."

"You're still doing better," Gibbs said.

"Doesn't feel like it right now," Tim said. "It feels like I've started over."

"You haven't. You're doing better. That doesn't change just because you have a setback."

"Freezing to death in a tree isn't just a setback," Tim said.

"You didn't freeze to death," Tony said. "Your luck is holding out."

"You don't need to remind me of that, Tony," Tim said.

"Sorry."

"It easy being here," Tim said. "I'm glad I came, but I don't know how to leave."

He stood up and looked at Tony and Gibbs.

"I'd better get this put away."

He walked out of the room.

"What do you think, Gibbs?"

Gibbs stared thoughtfully after Tim. He was definitely a lot better, but there was a still a look about him that was concerning. Better than nothing, but it still could be better.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Tim was quiet during dinner, and Jack didn't press him to talk. Gibbs never talked much and so Tony didn't feel like forcing the issue. They ate mostly in silence. When Tim finished, he picked up his plate and stood.

"Tim, is Ducky still coming tomorrow?" Jack asked.

Tim nodded. "Yeah."

Then, he walked into the kitchen. The water went on.

"Ducky's going to be here?" Tony asked.

"Tomorrow, and Tim needs him to be. Help him get over this last nightmare and how he reacted to it."

"I haven't seen Ducky in a while, either. How long does he stay when he comes?"

"Usually overnight. It's a long ride up here and he takes the bus. Sometimes, he'll come in the evening, talk to Tim the next day and then leave the morning after. It just depends."

"So...he'll have time to talk?" Tony asked.

Jack nodded with a smile. "Of course."

The water went off and Tim poked his head back in.

"I'm going outside, Jack," Tim said.

"You don't have to ask permission."

Tim smiled a little. "I'm not. I'm just telling you; so you know that I haven't lost my mind again. I'm just going outside."

"I trust you, Tim," Jack said.

Tim avoided making eye contact with Tony or Gibbs. He just left. Tony looked after Tim for a few minutes and then got to his feet.

"Thanks for dinner, Jack. It was great. I think I'll get some fresh air."

Tony grabbed his coat and a hat and went outside.

Tim was sitting on a chair, looking up at the sky. There were a few clouds, but Tony could see stars peeking through. He was bundled up with a hat, scarf, gloves and his coat.

"Hey, McGee," Tony said.

Tim jumped and looked at him.

"I have a first name, Tony. I always have," Tim said. He didn't look away from the sky and he didn't sound angry.

"I know. Sorry, Tim. I'm a jock and a Marine. Last names are easier."

"My first name is shorter."

"You're right," Tony said and smiled. "You're absolutely right."

"What do you want?"

"To talk."

"About what?"

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at the stars. I never really could in Vietnam. It was either raining or...it was too dangerous to relax and look up. Or at least look up that far. I had to keep my focus a lot closer to earth."

"You an astronomer, too?"

Tim smiled a little.

"No. Just...just a star gazer. I always liked looking at the stars when I could. It's...relaxing."

"But there are clouds."

"Doesn't matter."

"Okay."

"Is that all?" Tim asked.

Tony dragged a chair over by Tim and sat down.

"What is it?"

"You haven't been home to see your family?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"You _know_ why not," Tim said, sounding irritated.

"No, I don't," Tony said. "Because there's no reason why you should be letting your dad keep you away from your family. Now, I know that I have no experience with a good family. I don't spend time with my dad almost at all. But you've got a family you love."

"Yeah, I do...and I don't want to lose that!"

"Why should you _have_ to?" Tony asked. "Even if your dad is the biggest idiot who ever lived and chooses to disown you or whatever, your sister is an adult and so is your mom. Unless your dad is abusive..."

"No!" Tim said very quickly. "No, not ever, Tony. Don't even _suggest_ that my dad would..."

"That's not what I meant," Tony said. "What I meant was that your dad doesn't have the authority to stop your mom and your sister from seeing you. He can bluster all he wants, but you can still have a relationship with them. ...but not if you keep hiding from them. It's almost Christmas! Are you really going to avoid them for another year?"

Tim stood up and started to walk away. Tony jumped to his feet.

"Hey, Tim! You can't keep running away like this!"

Tim turned around. Even in the dim light coming from the house, Tony could see that Tim was furious in that same strange way.

"You have no _right_ to tell me how to live my life, DiNozzo! You have no _right_! My life sucks, okay? It really sucks and I'm not going to risk making it worse by going home, yelling at my dad, telling him how much I _hate_ him and then hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll have some part of my family left at the end of it! I'm not going to do that!"

"You hate your dad? You never said that before," Tony said.

Tim shoved Tony backwards a few steps.

"Stop trying to force me to talk about it! Just stop!"

He started to walk away again, but Tony decided that he wasn't going to let this be the way the conversation ended.

"Tim, I'm trying to help you get your life back. You say it sucks. Why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"I didn't ask for your help, Tony. I didn't ask you to help. I didn't ask for Gibbs to seek me out and make me care about trying to get better. I didn't ask for him to bring me here. I didn't ask for any of it, but it's what I've got. If I don't feel like I can do something more, what are you going to say? That I'm weak? I already know that! I would have been better off if I had just been killed in Vietnam, but that couldn't happen, could it. No, I had to be the one that always survived with the result that no one trusted me and people who should have been the best ended up being the lowest scum there is."

His words were getting wilder and louder as he spoke, and he was nearly yelling at Tony.

"We're not supposed to be the killers! We're not supposed to be the villains! We're not supposed to be evil, but we are! We are! We're the baby killers! We're the ones killing people for no reason! I've got so much blood on my hands that I can't bear the thought of touching anyone close to me."

"McGee!"

But Tim's wildness seemed to have pushed him out of reality and somewhere else. He was staring blankly at his hands. Tony reached out to...do something...shake Tim or something, but he didn't get the chance.

"Don't touch him, Tony," Gibbs said from behind.

"Huh?"

"I said don't touch him...unless you want to start fighting."

"He's gone?" Tony asked softly.

"Looks like it. We heard him inside, thought he might be losing control...especially after this morning."

"What do we do?" Tony asked.

He felt helpless in knowing how to help at this point. He hadn't intended to drive Tim into this state. It had been farthest from his mind, but once they'd started arguing, Tony had forgotten that he was talking to someone who was still having problems. And now...this was the result. Tim was shaking, staring at his hands, lost in a miasma of horrible memories.

Jack walked over to Tim. He didn't touch him.

"Sometimes, it's safe to touch him, but not when he when doesn't want to be. When he says he doesn't want to touch anyone, you don't touch him, unless you want to fight. I learned that...almost the hard way," Jack said. "I was lucky Hank was here."

Tim's eyes closed and his hands clenched into fists.

"Tim, can you hear me? You're not in Vietnam. You're not in danger. You're not the bad guy. You're in Stillwater. Remember?"

For what seemed an eternity, Tim was completely still. Then, his hands relaxed and fell to his sides. His eyes opened, but he stared at the ground instead of anyone else.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, Tim," Tony said. "_I'm_ sorry. That was stupid of me. I didn't even think about how far I was pushing you."

Tim didn't say anything. He just nodded.

"You want to come back inside, Tim?" Jack asked.

Tim shook his head.

"You sure?" Gibbs asked.

Tim nodded.

"I'll stay," Tony said.

"You don't have to," Tim whispered.

"Yeah, I do. ...and I promise that I won't start arguing with you again."

Tim smiled a little. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

Tim nodded again, and Tony looked at Gibbs who raised a warning eyebrow. Whether it was a warning to be careful in case Tim went off again or a warning to take it easy, Tony didn't know, but he was willing to take the warning both ways.

Jack and Gibbs went back inside.

"You sure you want to hang around the crazy guy?" Tim asked, sounding less frightened than he had.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Because I really want to finish what I was saying but without implying that you're too weak to do it."

Tim laughed a little, walked back to the chair and sat back down. He leaned forward and stared at his hands again.

"You ever read Shakespeare?" he asked.

"In high school."

"MacBeth?"

Tony thought about it.

"Blood on your hands."

"Yeah. I killed a lot of people and now I'm reliving it."

"You didn't kill people to become king. You were fighting in a war."

"It made a difference out there. It doesn't here."

"Yes, it does. Here or there, it was still a war. Just because the idiots over here don't know what they're talking about but still keep talking and talking doesn't make them right. They're not," Tony said. He was angry but it was as much because of what he'd heard as because of what Tim was saying.

"You trying to convince me or yourself?" Tim asked.

"You. I don't need anyone to tell me what I was doing out there. I know."

Tim sat up and looked at him.

"You ever think that the reason I'm having so much trouble is because I wasn't really out there for a good reason?"

"Were _any_ of us?" Tony asked. "I went because I couldn't think of anything else to do and serving in the military seemed like a good idea. Gibbs went to escape from bad memories. Other guys went because they wanted to shoot guns like little kids. You stayed because of your dad, but you went because you thought it was the right thing to do."

Tim looked at him and sighed.

"You said you had something else to say...that you weren't going to argue."

Tony smiled.

"Here's what I wanted to say, and like I said before, take this advice with a brick of salt."

"A brick?"

"Yeah, you'll need more than a grain."

Tim laughed briefly.

"Okay. Brick, it is. What is it?"

"If you really want to avoid possibly ruining your family's Christmas by confronting your dad, then, fine. It's not my family and I shouldn't tell you how you should do it."

"But?"

"But you need to confront your dad. You need to tell him _exactly_ what his...demand...ultimatum, whatever...you need to let him know what he did to his son by saying what he did. He needs to know that you could have destroyed yourself, you could have been killed...just because _he_ had decided that your choice wasn't the right one. And then...after you've done that, before you let _him_ say anything, you need to tell him that you won't let him cut you off from your mom and your sister. If he doesn't want to see you, that's fine, but he can't take your family away. That's my advice."

Tim looked back up at the sky.

"Have you noticed that when I'm stressed things get worse?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want my family to see me like I was for you. I don't want _anyone_ seeing me like that."

"I don't blame you."

"Good."

"But..."

Tim laughed again.

"But you still think I should go for it."

"Yeah...just because...you deserve to have a life. You saved mine more than once."

"You saved my life, too, Tony."

"I know. We both deserve to have a life. I've got one and it's a pretty good one if I do say so myself. You deserve one, too."

"Thanks."

"Do you believe me?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Tony laughed.

"You're such a liar."

"Only about that."

"MIT?"

"What about it?" Tim asked.

"You should go back."

"Tony...I don't know if you've just never noticed before, but I'm not a tough guy. I just don't have the...the _oomph_ to fight against what people think of me. If a bunch of people tell me I'm a jinx, I start to believe it. If a bunch of people tell me that I'm a murderer, I start to believe it. I'm a weak-minded fool."

"You're not, Tim."

"All evidence to the contrary?" Tim asked, cynically.

"No. You already fought the hardest fight there is."

"Lots of people fought in Vietnam, Tony. There's nothing special about..."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

Tim furrowed his brow, and Tony slugged his shoulder gently.

"You said it yourself. Your dad was completely against you going. He didn't accept your life choices and you did them anyway. You went against your _dad_. You didn't listen to him. You didn't believe him."

"Maybe I did, but I was trying to be better than what I believed I was."

"Doesn't matter. I refuse to believe that anyone who was going to MIT is a weak-minded fool. MIT is a bunch of uber-geeks. No fools and no weak minds."

"I'm not there, now," Tim said.

"That's because you're stubborn...and just maybe a little bit scared."

"More than a little," Tim said bluntly. "Tony, I'm a _lot_ scared."

Tony took a breath. He wasn't someone who liked admitting to human frailties. He had them, but it wasn't something he liked talking about. It was easier to make jokes instead.

"Sometimes, I wake up at night," Tony said. "Sometimes, when I wake up, it's so quiet that...that there's something I'm really afraid of hearing and I have to...get some sound just to keep myself from hearing it."

Tim was quiet for a few seconds. He resumed looking at his hands.

"What? Hearing what?"

"A little click," Tony said. "Just a click. Sometimes...I'm so afraid of hearing it that I almost can't get out of bed, not even to turn on the light. That click that tells you...you've just stepped on a landmine."

Tim didn't say anything, and Tony let out a breath.

"You're not the only one who gets scared, Tim. All the things I saw and did there...that little click is still the most terrifying sound for me."

Tim still didn't say a word. Tony wasn't sure what he was thinking.

"I just want you to know that being scared isn't a sign of being weak. If it is, then, we're all weak because everyone gets scared of something. You're afraid of confronting your dad and reliving what happened in Vietnam. I'm scared of hearing the click of a landmine. What scares me is a lot smaller than what scares you. Does that mean that I'm weaker than you? Maybe I am."

More silence.

"Come on, Tim. Say something. I can't tell if I'm making any headway or if you're just wishing that I'd leave you alone. I'm pretty thick; so you need to say so, if that's what you're thinking."

Another period of silence and then, Tim finally spoke.

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because you need to hear it. There's nothing wrong with being scared."

"But I'm letting it rule my life."

"You don't have to."

Tim was quiet again. Tony figured that was it for the night. He stood up and started back to the house.

"Monsters," Tim said softly.

Tony paused and turned around.

"What?"

Tim wasn't looking at him. He wasn't looking at his hands. He was staring at nothing...but what he was seeing...

"That was the worst for me. There are a lot of things that I hate about what I did, but the worst...seeing their eyes change, their faces change. Marines...suddenly becoming monsters."

Tony wasn't sure what Tim meant at first, but then, he realized. He walked back and sat down again.

"The people I should have been able to rely on without fail...they turned into monsters. It's...hard to trust that things will work out. You never know what's going to happen because the one thing that should never have been a possibility was my reality."

"Tim...do you really want to be out here right now? There aren't any stars showing anymore. The clouds are covering them."

Tim shrugged.

"Come inside. You can trust us. No monsters in the house."

Tim looked at Tony and nodded. He got up and they walked into the house together.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Ducky arrived at the house the next afternoon. It had been a quiet night. No overly-disturbing nightmares awoke anyone in the house. If Tim had still been afflicted with nightmares of some kind, they didn't get him out of bed or having him talking in his sleep. Everyone slept through the night.

Jack had taken the initiative to call Ducky and let him know about the problem Tim had faced the day before. It was discouraging, of course, but there had been a lot of progress, and Ducky didn't want Tim to lose any of his meager confidence.

Ducky walked up the steps to the front door and knocked. He was surprised to find Tony on the other side of it.

"Anthony!"

"Hey, Ducky. Long time, no see!"

There was a quick hug and then, Ducky followed Tony inside.

"Jethro, you're here, too?"

"Hey, Ducky."

"What's the occasion?"

"Visiting Tim," Tony said. "Bad timing for us, though. I didn't know he was going to be having such a bad day yesterday."

"Impossible to predict," Ducky said. "Your presence might have been a good thing, though. His tendency has been toward isolation and having company is a boon for someone in Tim's position."

"Do you know why he's having this problem?" Tony asked.

"I've been consulting with some of my friends all the time that I've been attempting to help Timothy. It seems to be a reaction to severe trauma, and given the experiences Timothy had, you may take your pick as to which one is the cause, although I doubt it could be pinned down to one. Rather, it was the entire situation. It is a long-term disorder, whatever it is, and it will take time for Timothy to learn to live with it."

"Live with it?" Tony asked. "He's going to have to...deal with this forever?"

"Not to the same degree, I don't think. He's improved already, but improvement takes time and it's a struggle. Acknowledgment that it _is_ a genuine disorder is new...and technically, it hasn't been recognized as yet, although more people are studying it now. The plain fact is that we don't know how much improvement there can be, nor if it can be cured. It is psychological in nature and the human mind is difficult to understand and harder to treat. I can only promise that I am doing my best to help him."

"Yeah. I know," Tony said. "After seeing him last night...I don't like to think of him being like that for the rest of his life."

"It may not _be_ the rest of his life. I am only certain it is chronic, long-term. Permanent? I have no way of knowing."

Tony nodded, reluctantly.

"But how are _you_ doing?"

"I'm doing great. I had a bad day last week and I'm on vacation as a result."

"How bad?"

"Moment when I forgot where I was, but it wasn't anything like what Tim's going through."

"No, actually, it sounds like it is. Just in a minor way. Tell me," Ducky said, sitting down.

"It was a drug bust. We were after the dealer. He started shooting, and while the pursuit was going on..." Tony shrugged. "It was like I forgot that I was after a drug dealer. It was Charlie instead. The weird thing is...I didn't think I was in Vietnam. It was just him that changed. I'll admit it. It kind of scared me, but it didn't last and that's the first time it's ever happened to me."

"In a moment of stress?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Your life was in danger?"

"Yeah."

"The triggers make sense to me. It's a matter of understanding how it is that the mind compensates for these traumas...and we just don't have that yet. Certainly, it must be related to the initial trauma and the stresses involved, perhaps the adrenaline rush associated with danger. That you have also had some kind of reaction...albeit milder...that is something to keep in mind when consulting in the future."

"Glad I could help," Tony said.

Ducky smiled. "If you would like to speak with me, as well, Anthony, I'm quite willing. Baltimore is closer than Stillwater."

Tony chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind. What else are you doing when you're not consulting or traveling up here?"

"I have things to fill my day. I visit my mother quite often, although she no longer recognizes me most of the time. I go out with friends. I am enjoying the quiet when I have it...and the chance to visit when the opportunity arises."

Tony smiled and Ducky turned his attention on Gibbs.

"And you, Jethro. How is Norfolk treating you?"

"It's fine," Gibbs said.

Ducky chuckled. Gibbs was feeling taciturn, apparently.

"Well, I had no idea that you would both be here and so I didn't bring your Christmas presents."

"We don't need presents, Ducky," Gibbs said.

"Of course, you don't. That's not why one gives Christmas presents. They're gifts. I want you to _use_ them, but they're not necessary for life. Now, you can entertain me until Timothy comes back."

"Well...do you go to movies, Ducky?" Tony asked.

"Not often."

"Let me tell you about the last movie I saw, then."

"Fire away."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The bell rang as the customer left. Tim closed the register and walked to the back.

"How long are you going to put it off, Tim?" Jack asked.

"Put what off?"

"Talking to Ducky. You know he's probably there by now."

Tim sat on a box.

"Jack...Tony thinks I should talk to my dad...tell him how I feel, what happened. I know I should, but I..."

Jack sat down across from him.

"Are you afraid?"

Tim looked up.

"The more I've been here, the more I've...talked with Ducky...the more I'm trying to be better than I was...the more I hate him. I never hated my dad before. We had a lot of arguments before, but I never hated him. I never felt like I didn't matter to him."

"Until now?"

"Yeah. Until I came back from Vietnam and I didn't really come back. I want someone to blame, and he's right there. I can see him in my head, standing there with that same expression he always has, the one that says he knows he's right and no one else could possibly be right, too." Tim took a breath. "And I see that expression and I want to...beat it off his face. ...and I never thought that I'd ever feel that way about my dad. ...and I'm afraid that, if I go back, I really will do it...because I hate him."

"Tim, there's no rush, you know. You don't have to go just because Tony says you should. He's right. You _should_ talk to your father, but only when you're ready to do it."

"But if I don't go now, you'll be stuck with me on Christmas and that's supposed to be a family thing."

"Yes, it is, but that's no reason for me not to invite someone else along. I don't have much family left, you know. I'll probably be heading down to Norfolk so that my son can't get out of spending the holiday with me. You are quite welcome to join me."

"Jack...you've been so nice about all this. Really...I would never have expected you to do...anything at all. When Gibbs told me that I could come here, I didn't believe him. What sane person would invite a perfect stranger to their house? And I'm not an easy houseguest."

"You're not, but that's all right. It keeps me young."

Tim laughed a little.

"Now, why don't you go and talk to Ducky right now, ask him about this stuff and let him help you. He's helped you a lot already."

"Yeah, he has," Tim said as he got to his feet. "I'm still not sure if I'm glad about that."

Jack got up as well.

"I know you're not, but you will be. Give it some time and you'll be glad you decided to fight back."

Tim looked around the store and then at Jack one more time.

"I never thought I'd still be fighting a war when I came back from the war."

Jack put his arm around Tim's shoulders and led him to the front door. Tim smiled as he noticed what Jack was doing.

"There's always another battle, Tim. Some are easier, some are harder, but you're fighting until the day you die because that's what life is. It's not about being perfect. It's about struggling to be better...whatever that means for each person. Your struggle is a bit harder than some people have, but you have the muscle to do it...and you've got a few people trying to help you out. Don't give up yet, son. You've got a lot of living to do."

Then, Jack gently shoved Tim out of the store.

"Now, go and talk to Ducky."

Tim laughed and nodded. He headed for the house, knowing that, as Jack had said, Ducky would be there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky enjoyed talking with Tony and Gibbs, catching up on what they were doing, although there was little reminiscing. Wars weren't really the ideal reminiscence.

In the afternoon, the door opened and Tim came into the house.

"Hi, Ducky," he said.

For some reason, it always felt like Tim was forcing the familiarity when he said Ducky's name. He wasn't sure of the reason for it.

"Timothy, hello. Are you ready to speak with me?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Come along, then."

Tim nodded. He followed Ducky into the study and sat down. He was fidgety. Understandable, given what had happened the day before.

"Jackson told me about what happened."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. It's unfortunate, but you shouldn't look on it as an indication of your overall progress."

"I know. ...but I was..." Tim sighed. "There's something else, though."

"What is it?"

"Tony said I should talk to my dad."

"At some point, yes. Not before you feel ready to do so."

"I hate him, Ducky. I'm realizing it now. I hate him. ...and it...it feels wrong to hate my own father. ...but I do, because of everything that happened. I'm blaming him for it, but I know that isn't right. He couldn't know what would happen. He couldn't, but I still hate him."

"Timothy, it is an understandable that you'd feel that way."

"But when I get mad...I can lose control and...and I don't want to...or maybe I do. I just...don't know."

Ducky leaned forward and put out his hand to calm Tim's agitation.

"Timothy, if you feel so uncertain about it, then, you're not ready, and that's all right. It really is. Do you want to _get_ ready? That hasn't been my particular focus in trying to help you. My intention has been to help you deal with the trauma and moments when you relive it. We can turn our attention to that, if you'd prefer."

Tim got up and started pacing.

"I don't know...Ducky...it's... Is there really a good reason to bother? Is there any reason why I should try and go back?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"What? What good reason is there?" Tim asked.

But Ducky could hear Tim asking to be convinced that this was worth pursuing. He hadn't made much, if any, effort to change his situation up to this point, but it was becoming clear to Ducky that Tim was starting to think of more than just existing.

"The best reason of all, Timothy."

"What is it?"

"Getting your life back. You don't have to avoid all of your past life out of fear. Yes, there are challenges you're still facing and that is going to take time, but you're avoiding the good parts of your life, and you don't have to. You can get it back. Is that what you want?"

Tim started pacing again. He wasn't ready now. Ducky knew that. His stress would easily push him over his limits, and if he was truly that angry at his father, Tim _could_ attack him if the stress and anxiety was too much for him to take. No matter what he said about his father right now, Tim would feel guilty if he lost control.

Ducky stood up and stopped Tim's frantic motion.

"Timothy, listen to me."

"Last night, I totally lost it and..."

"Timothy," Ducky said, keeping his voice calm. He'd found that Tim responded much better to calm. When he raised his voice, Tim's frustration increased as well, sometimes to the point that he was pushed over the edge. Even if it seemed impossible that a softly-spoken word would be heard, Tim almost always heard the simplest words.

And it worked this time, too. Tim stopped and looked at him.

"You shouldn't feel that you have to do anything that you're not ready for...and I agree with you. Right now, you're not ready for all that could occur. That's fine. The question is whether you want to be. Are you ready to get your life back?"

"What if I still hate him?"

"That's your perogative. I must say that, given what little I know of your father, I don't feel any need to change your feelings toward him. I think I would hate him, too. ...and I can say without much hesitation, that if you asked him to, Jethro would go and confront your father himself."

Tim smiled a little and sat back down.

"I don't know if I want that," he said.

Ducky sat down as well.

"This is _your_ life, Timothy. You are the only one who can decide what form it will take. You can't let others decide for you. You can't let others' _ideas_ of what you deserve or what you should have done or what consquences there should be dictate what you want out of your life. I know that you have far more challenges than you wish. I know that you want things to be different than they are. But what you seem to be missing is the fact that you _can_ lessen the challenges. With time. You _can_ make things different. With effort. It doesn't just happen. Very few things just happen."

Tim nodded and stared at the floor.

"So...what do you want to do?"

He looked up again.

"What if I still hate him?"

"Then, you still hate him and your father will be forced to face the consequences of his ultimatum."

Tim nodded again.

"Well?"

"How will you get me ready to go back?"

Ducky smiled. It wasn't a real answer, but it was close enough.

"We'll start to focus more on that particular problem so that you can adjust to your own feelings about it. We'll try to help you accept your feelings and express them...in a healthy manner."

"Okay."

"All right, then."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim and Ducky talked together for another couple of hours, and when the evening came, Gibbs and Tony made dinner. They all sat down together and actually talked somewhat. It was a calmer meal without being as awkward as the night before.

"So what will you all be doing for the Christmas season?" Ducky asked.

"Abby's coming to Baltimore," Tony said. "But I haven't really planned anything quite yet. I figure that we'll figure it out...whenever. It'll be fun."

Ducky looked at Tim.

Tim just shrugged.

"He's joining me in Norfolk," Jack said. "We're going to make my son's life miserable for a couple of days."

"Well, might I make a suggestion?" Ducky asked.

"Go right ahead."

"Since you'll all be...in the area around DC, some closer than others, I'd like to tender an invitation to my home for Christmas dinner. ...unless you have better plans. My mother is unable to be without care and doesn't know who I am any longer, and I am facing the prospect of a Christmas alone. I'd love to change that."

"Abby, too?" Tony asked.

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of excluding her. I had already planned on inviting over my old assistant, Jimmy Palmer. He's finishing his medical degree in DC, and he not exactly wealthy. If anyone else would like to invite someone along, I'd be more than happy to make room. A full house on Christmas would be lovely. ...but I would not have you feel required to come."

"I'd love to come," Jack said. "Leroy? Would you be able to come?"

"I think I could manage that," he said. "Sounds good."

"Wonderful. I'll give you directions to my home. Timothy?"

Tim looked around at the other men at the table. He smiled a little.

"I don't have anywhere else to go...but it would be nice to celebrate Christmas. I missed it last year."

"What were you doing?" Tony asked.

"Jim's dad invited me to join him with his family, but I couldn't do that."

No one asked why not.

"I hid in the apartment. That's all. It was just another day to get through...and I did."

"Then, we'll have you celebrating Christmas this year."

"Okay."

"Excellent. Anthony?"

"We'll be there. Should be fun, and we'll have time together before I go back to work, too."

The rest of the evening, Tim was quiet, as usual, but everyone else was talking. He excused himself to go outside again. The skies were clear, and the stars sparkled brightly. Gibbs watched him go and decided to talk with him.

Tim was staring up at the stars. Gibbs sat down beside him.

"You feeling all right?" he asked after a few silent minutes.

"Right at this moment?" Tim asked in return.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Tim said. "I like the cold air, the quiet, the stars. I'm not afraid...or at least, not as much."

"That's why you haven't wanted to leave," Gibbs said.

"Yeah."

"And now?"

"I still feel the same mostly, but I'm not as afraid."

"MIT?"

"I don't know what I'd do."

"Get a degree?"

Tim sighed.

"I can't see it anymore."

"See what?"

"What I wanted out of my life. When I think about what happened in Vietnam, studying for a degree just seems kind of...pointless. So many people are dying and I'm learning about computers? Why? What's the point?"

"You can't do anything for them from here, Tim," Gibbs said. "If you really want to do something, you need connections, something to put you back in the world. You can't do that if you hide away."

Tim shrugged.

"But that's not why you should do it."

"Why, then?"

"Because it's what you want to do."

"You say that like it matters."

"It does. It's the only thing that matters."

"Is it?" Tim asked.

His voice was toneless. Gibbs clapped him on the shoulder.

"It's as importance for you to do what you want with you life as it is for any other person."

"There are a lot of people back there who can't do what they want with their lives," Tim said. "What about them? The people whose entire country was torn apart by a war that's _still_ going on. Don't _they_ deserve better?"

"Of course, they do."

"Then, what right do _I_ have to make a life for myself?"

"The same right anyone else has," Gibbs said. "Some people can't...and it's not only in Vietnam. It's here. It's in every country in the world. There are always people who can't. That doesn't mean that none of the rest of us have the right to try for what they would want to do if they could."

Tim just shook his head. Gibbs took hold of Tim and turned him.

"I made you a promise, Tim."

"You already broke that promise when you sent me back," Tim said.

"No, I didn't. I kept it."

"We all survive or we all go down."

"Exactly."

Tim's eyes weren't accusing. They were pleading. Gibbs wasn't sure what Tim was looking for, but he was searching.

"I'm not letting anyone on my team go down if I can stop it. You're doing better, but if you don't do _something_, Tim, you'll go down. And there's no reason to."

"But I have to fight."

"Yeah, you do. I'm not letting you give up. I know you can fight. I've seen it."

"Yeah...I can kill."

"No. Fight. I'm not talking about the war."

Tim didn't ask him what he meant.

"Try. That's all I ask, Tim. Just try, because if you do, you'll succeed."

Tim stepped back and looked up at the sky again.

"Since when are you so...mushy, Gunnery Sergeant?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes and swatted Tim on the back of the head.

"What have I told you?"

Tim smiled a little.

"I don't feel like I can be normal, Gibbs. I don't feel like that's possible."

"Maybe it's not. Maybe it is. You'll never know until you see how far you can get."

"It's a beautiful night," Tim said softly.

Gibbs followed his gaze.

"Yeah, it is."

Tim sat down and started looking at the stars again. Gibbs paused and then sat down beside him.

"Show me."

"Is that an order?" Tim asked, but he was smiling.

Gibbs smiled, too. "Yes."

Tim laughed a little and then started pointing out constellations. Tony came out a few minutes later and sat quietly, listening to Tim's tour of the night sky.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

_Dear Ziva,_

_I figure that you don't celebrate Christmas, but I missed Hanukkah. I'm sorry. I've enclosed something small. It's just a little gift for you, and I hope that it isn't a bad idea. I mean no disrespect._

_Gibbs is trying to get me to go back to MIT. The problem is that he's almost succeeded. He's made me start thinking about it, and if I'm honest about it, I miss school. I left for Vietnam from the middle of my graduate program. Now, I could go back, but I'm afraid that my old professors won't want to associate with a veteran. They were against the war._

_I hope that you're staying safe. I know that you're doing things that aren't simple, aren't easy, and I hope you can take some time and find a way to be happy._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Tim_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

On Christmas Day, Ducky's house was full of people, as he'd hoped. Abby and Tony were there. Jimmy brought his girlfriend, Breena, with him. Tim was there with Jack, and to everyone's shock, Gibbs brought a date. Her name was Hollis and she was part of the Women's Army Corps. She was very confident and happy to meet everyone.

Dinner was a casual affair and they were all in good spirits. They shared stories, talked about Christmas traditions, commented on the food. With Tony and Abby there, the party was fairly boisterous, and Jimmy, whom none of them had known especially well, proved to be an entertaining addition as well.

Tony regaled them all with his list of the best Christmas movies ever, _It's a Wonderful Life_ taking the top spot. Abby told them about her experiences in New Orleans, particularly seeing Mardi Gras. Jimmy had a host of inappropriate, yet hilarious jokes. Gibbs was taciturn, as was his habit, but Hollis was happy to join in the conversations, even contributing some stories about her time serving as part of the WAC. Ducky never ran out of stories, and his repertoire was wide and varied. Tim said very little, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, even if there was a wistful aspect to his expression. He had given up spending Christmas with his family this year, but his family would be celebrating Christmas, even if he wasn't there to be with them.

After dinner, they all helped clean up, Ducky tried to force leftovers on them all. Jack managed to give the excuse that it was a long trip back up to Stillwater and they wouldn't be able to keep it good all that way. Hollis and Gibbs had a long drive themselves. Jimmy, Tony and Abby had no such excuses and so they ended up taking quite a lot of food with them when they left. Abby hugged Tim tightly before she left, telling him that she hoped to see him again. Tony promised to bug him some more but then, he and Abby left to share some time together before they went back to their separate jobs. Jimmy had promised to get Breena back to her parents' before it was too late and so he left pretty quickly.

Jack and Tim were staying overnight rather than attempting the long drive on Christmas night, but Gibbs and Hollis had to be back the next day and so they _were_ driving back that night. Before they left, though, Gibbs stopped.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"I have something for you."

"What is it?"

Gibbs pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

"Got this in the mail. It's for you."

Tim's brow furrowed.

"Why do you have mail for me?"

"Because you haven't told anyone where you are."

He handed it to Tim who looked at it.

"From Sarah?"

"Yeah. She was hoping that I knew where you were."

Tim turned the envelope over and looked at it.

"What does it say?"

Gibbs laughed a little.

"It's addressed to _you_, Tim. Not to me."

"Yeah, I guess."

"She's your sister, Tim. You don't have to be afraid of what she has to say."

"I guess not." Tim bit his lip as he looked at the envelope. It was the first direct contact he'd had with his family since Gibbs had found him at the gym.

"Merry Christmas," Gibbs said. "Are you ready, Holly?"

"I'm ready, Jethro. It was nice to meet you all. Thanks for letting me come along," Hollis said.

"Anytime, my dear," Ducky said.

Tim heard them talking, but he was still looking at the letter.

"Bye, Tim."

Tim looked up.

"Thanks, Gibbs."

Gibbs just nodded with an understanding look in his eye. Then, he and Hollis left. Tim took a breath and looked at the envelope again.

"Tim, it's not going to change," Jack said. "And I doubt you have anything to be scared of."

"I'm sure I don't," Tim said. He took a breath and pulled out the letter.

_Dear Tim,_

_I'm just getting around to accepting that I'm not going to see you on Christmas this year again. I miss you, brother. I really do. I love you and I wish you'd come home. Mom does, too. I think Dad does, but you know Dad. He doesn't talk about those kinds of things. If Mom and Dad have talked about it when I'm not there, they definitely aren't while I'm here._

_I didn't know what to expect when I saw you before and I was surprised at how much you'd changed, but I still love you and I want to be able to see you again. I'll tell you right now, Tim, that I don't care what Dad says, I'm not giving you up. Not ever._

_Please come home._

_Merry Christmas._

_Sarah._

Tim sat down and looked at the letter for a long time. He missed his family, but even beyond his fear of being rejected by his father, he knew that he was not the same person who had left. The things he'd done and seen in Vietnam had changed him, and no matter what Ducky said, he was pretty sure that a lot of it would remain changed. Unless he could somehow scour those memories from his mind, he wasn't going to be able to go back to the person he'd been before his service. But here, Sarah, who _had_ looked in his eyes and seen how different he was, still wanted him to be part of the family.

Ducky and Jack were forgotten. Tim got up and walked to the window. He looked out and saw a few flakes of snow falling down. No dust in the air. No blistering heat that felt like a weapon in and of itself. No mortars. No massacres. ...but in its own way, it was more terrifying to consider going home than it had been to be in Vietnam. He remembered lying in the jungle in the pouring rain, hating every second he was out there. ...but he had never wished he was home because of what that would have meant for him.

Before he knew it, he was outside in Ducky's yard, staring up at the snowflakes. It was still humid, but it was cold...and there was snow. Even as he shivered, he liked feeling the colder air and the little snowflakes as they hit his face and melted.

What would his life have been like if he hadn't gone to Vietnam? He usually tried not to think about it because, even with all that had happened, he still felt that it had been the right decision. It was just that the personal cost had ended up being both too high and not high enough. If he had died out there, it wouldn't have mattered how changed he was. All the things he had seen wouldn't make a difference. It wouldn't matter that his buddies had been taken down, nearly to a man, in their first real action. None of those things would have mattered because he would have been dead. But because he'd survived, all those things _did_ matter and they had wreaked havoc on his mind, on his ability to view the world as a place he could live in.

It was a world that could have fit the Timothy McGee who stayed at MIT, got advanced degrees, maybe found a girlfriend, maybe got married.

But this Timothy McGee who had been a Marine, who had killed men, who had seen women and children killed, who had seen people he cared about killed...this Timothy McGee wasn't wanted in the world. He was looked upon as evidence of an unpopular war. He was looked upon as an example of everything that had gone wrong. He wasn't a hero. He was a source of shame.

Tim stared at the snowflakes, wondering what kind of a life he could really expect. Whatever life he lived would always be tarnished by what he'd become.

And still the snowflakes fell.

Then, he heard someone coming up behind him. He tensed. Who was it? Friend or foe?

"Tim? You all right?"

He looked out a long, slow breath. Jack. He wasn't in Vietnam. He was in Virginia. There were no foes...at least none who would be attacking him here.

"Who can I be, Jack?" Tim asked, staring out at the snow.

"Anyone you want."

"No, I can't. I can't be anyone I want because...all that stuff in my head. I can't be anyone I want. Who _can_ I be?"

"Who do you _want_ to be?"

"I don't know. I want to be someone...but I'm not right now. I'm no one. I'm just a symbol."

"Of what?"

"Everything that went wrong. If you wanted to distill all the mistakes that were made, all the horrors that occurred out there... If you wanted to make that be one person...it could be me. I'm a symbol of what's wrong. I'm not a person."

"If you're not right now, you can be. ...but I think you are already...and, Tim, if you have to be symbol of what's wrong, you're also a symbol of what's right."

"How?"

"Your country called and you answered. You tried to save those who needed saving and you didn't stand by when things were wrong. You did your best to make them right...whether you succeeded or not. You can't acknowledge the bad without acknowledging the good, too."

"Everyone else does."

"I don't. Ducky doesn't. My son doesn't. Your friends don't."

"You've seen the news."

"Yes, I have, and most of those people are full of themselves. They're shouting so loud that they can't even hear how ridiculous what they're saying is. They're so focused on their cause that they don't realize what they're destroying in the process." Jack came level with Tim. "If you're waiting for worldwide accolades, Tim, you'll never get them. You should be satisfied that the people you know and who know you are on your side."

"There's someone I don't know..."

"And you'll never know until you ask him. And, quite frankly, Tim, if he's not, he doesn't deserve to be called your father. He can disagree with the war all he wants, but if he rejects his son for doing what he did, then, he's no father."

"But he _is _my father."

"Not if he refuses to accept who you are. Acceptance doesn't necessarily mean agreeing. Goodness knows, my son and I had our share of fights, but I never rejected him. I accepted the decision he made and when he allowed me to, I told him whether I agreed or not...but at the end of the day, it had to be his choice and it wasn't up to me to try to make him regret it more than he might otherwise."

"Sarah wants to see me again."

"Good."

There was a quiet period and then Tim heard Jack shuffle a little bit.

"I have something for you, Tim."

"What?"

"Christmas present."

"You already gave me one. I don't need more."

"I know that, but I felt like this would be appropriate. It's one of the things that _I_ remember...well, not from my service. I saw it before that...it's why I decided to join up and serve in the first war."

Tim hadn't yet looked at Jack, but now, he looked down and saw a flat,wrapped package. He took it.

"Open it, Tim."

Tim did as instructed. It was a small framed poem.

"Do you know it?"

Tim nodded mutely. Jack recited it softly from memory.

"_In Flanders fields the poppies grow  
__Between the crosses, row on row,  
__That mark our place; and in the sky  
__The larks, still bravely singing, fly  
__Scarce heard amid the guns below._

_We are the Dead. Short days ago  
__We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,  
__Loved and were loved, and now we lie  
__In Flanders fields._

_Take up our quarrel with the foe:  
__To you from failing hands we throw  
__The torch; be yours to hold it high.  
__If ye break faith with us who die  
__We shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
__In Flanders fields."_

Tim heard the words. He'd heard them before, actually, but hearing Jack recite them meant more somehow than anything he'd heard before.

"You take from that what you will, son, but remember this: You served your country. You saved people's lives. If you still feel shame even with those things, you may as well have not gone. General Sherman, back during the Civil War, said that war is Hell. He was right. He is still right. War is not undertaken because it's easy. War is messy. War is cruel. War will always be that way no matter how civilized we become. Men who serve with good intentions should not be destroyed because of their devotion. You take from this poem what you will, but remember that you're one who took up the torch and held it high. Just because some don't accept that and want to look away from the light doesn't mean that you shouldn't have taken it."

Tim still stared at the words of the poem.

"Merry Christmas, son. Don't stay out here too long. It's getting cold."

Then, Tim heard Jack turn and trudge back into the house.

He looked at the poem. Then, he looked at the letter Sarah had written to him.

Then, he looked up at the falling snow again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Any improvements?" Ducky asked.

Jack shrugged. He was watching Tim in the backyard.

"You never know with Tim. It's still his father that matters. I think...until he actually talks to his father, he won't be able to get much farther. That's too much a part of the problems he's having for him to move beyond it."

Ducky nodded. "You're probably right. He's much better than he was when I first saw him, but there is a lot room for improvement still."

Jack turned away from the window.

"He's coming back inside."

The door opened and Tim came walked into the room. He looked at the two of them.

"What is it, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

Tim was quiet for a moment. He looked down at the letter and poem in his hands and then at Ducky.

"What is it, Tim?" Jack asked.

"I...I miss my family," he said. "I just...don't know how to go back."

"If you want to go back, we can help you," Ducky said. "Is that what you want?"

Tim nodded.

"Okay, then. We'll do that."

"Okay."


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

_Three months later..._

Admiral John McGee was a little bit behind schedule this morning. He and Margaret had been arguing again. There was a general trend to their arguments, had been ever since they'd found out that Tim had come back from Vietnam, but this morning she had been trying to get him to abuse his position and figure out where Tim might be. He had refused. If Tim didn't want to see them, it wasn't their responsibility to track him down. He was an adult and made his own decisions.

Still, the arguments had been getting more frequent. They agreed that they wouldn't ever argue in front of Sarah, but she was back at school. That restriction no longer mattered.

The long and the short of it was that John was glad to be getting to his office. He walked up the sidewalk toward the building, his long legs taking him quickly to the door. He barely noticed the man sitting on the bench.

Then, from behind him, he heard a soft voice.

"Hi, Dad."

John stopped and turned back. The man on the bench stood up.

"I was waiting for you. You're never late for work. What's the occasion?"

The tone wasn't one he recognized, and the face was thinner, more lined than he remembered. The clothes were casual, a little shabby, but clean. Just jeans, a button-down shirt and a jacket. But there was no question that, yes, this was Tim. What he did notice was that there was no warmth in his son's eyes. None at all.

"I'm surprised to see you here on base," John said. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. Knew you'd be here. You're almost never anywhere else."

"You want to come inside?"

There was a smile, but it was humorless.

"Maybe. It depends on whether or not you're going to let me talk and actually listen to me. Can you do that? I don't think you ever have before."

John stiffened at the cynical attitude his son was giving him, but a public sidewalk was not the place to deal with personal matters. He gestured and Tim shrugged and followed him inside, into his office.

Once the door was closed, John put down his cover and turned to lecture his son.

He didn't get a chance.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs didn't think about anything beyond his work while on base. This was his job and he was going to give it his attention. It was better that than to risk one of his men being sloppy. Sloppy could easily mean dead.

But Jack had called him this morning and told him about Tim's sudden departure. He'd left a note stating that he'd decided it was time to confront his father, but there had been no warning of it at all.

...and Tim had taken Jack's truck. He'd been using it off and on over the last couple of months, but it was out of character for Tim to up and leave without asking. He was so worried about being the bad guy.

He dismissed the men almost absently. It was almost funny how hard it was to let go of responsibility. Once they got back to the world, away from Vietnam, they should have all gone their separate ways, maybe keeping in casual contact with each other. That hadn't happened. They were even all in the same area of the country. Gibbs had chosen to stay at Norfolk simply because it relatively close to his father. He wasn't ready to retire by any means, and he didn't have many other connections. He knew why Tim had stayed in DC, but why had Tony picked Baltimore, of all places? It was clear that he was happily pursuing Abby, but when he could have, he didn't go to New Orleans.

And now, Tim had gone off to see his father. No warning. Nothing. ...and Gibbs was worried about it. Why had he chosen to do that and why now?

...and what would he do?

Gibbs knew Tim to be a devoted Marine, obedient, skilled...and passionate about certain things. His problems had not removed _any_ of those attributes, but Tim could easily let his anger get the best of his more positive traits...especially since coming back. There were too many things he regretted, too many things he hated to tamely tell his father what he felt.

He had to admit it, even if only to himself.

Gibbs was worried about what Tim might do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim..."

"No, Dad," Tim said coldly. "You're not talking this time. I am. If you're not going to let me talk, then, I'm walking out right now."

Tim waited to see if his dad would try to take control of the conversation the way he always did. His dad looked exactly the same as he had before. Tim had no doubt that he would be feeling the same way.

"What do you have to say?"

There wasn't much acceptance in his dad's tone, but Tim took what he could get.

"First, I've been back from Vietnam for over two years. I was sent back because I had people who cared more about my well-being than about your opinion. They were worried about my health. I received an honorable discharge, but I've been back. The war isn't over yet. Most of the military is gone, but I was back here in January of 1970. I was back before the war was over. You said that I couldn't come home before the war was over. If I did, I wouldn't have a family to come home to. Well, I'm back. What are you going to do about it, Dad?"

To Tim's surprise, his father said nothing. He just looked at him.

"Nothing to say? After that threat? After telling me that I'd lose what was most important to me in the world...you have nothing to say?"

"You made your decision, Tim. You knew what the consequences could be."

"No," Tim said, feeling his anger rise up. He'd hoped to hold it off a little longer. "The consequences of my choice to join the Marines should have been giving up graduate school to serve. They should have been the risk of being killed out there or injured. It should _not_ have been a threat from my own father simply because he didn't agree."

"It was a mistake to get involved."

"When the country calls, we answer," Tim shot back. "How many times did I hear that from you while I was growing up? How many times did you tell me that I was letting the nation down by not joining the Navy? When I chose to join the Marines, to answer the call, instead of telling me that I did what you had always wanted me to do, I got a threat."

"We got pulled into a battle we shouldn't have. It was a civil war."

"So was Korea," Tim said.

"We engaged in Korea with the support of the United Nations, to protect Japan and keep the world from descending into another global conflict," John said sternly. "In Vietnam, we interfered, and there is no way that this war will end well. It will leave us covered with shame."

"You're an admiral in the U.S. Navy," Tim said. "How can you so casually reject what we're doing?"

"I obey orders just like anyone else does," John said. "That doesn't mean that I can't disagree."

"And can't hurt the people who disagree with you?"

"I gave you a choice."

"No. You didn't give me a choice. You gave me an ultimatum...and it still failed. ...but you did succeed in one thing," Tim said.

"What's that?"

"You succeeded in making me hate you."

"For what reason?" John asked, sounding much too calm.

"For keeping me in a place that was destroying me. I expected to have trouble with the war. I've never been that kind of person who would enjoy fighting. My first battle...most of the men I went through boot camp with died. It was terrible, but that wasn't the worst thing I dealt with. I served knowing there was no escape for me. I couldn't leave...because of you. I don't regret signing up. I still feel that it was the right thing to do, but I wouldn't have gone back unless I was needed. I was considered a jinx out there. I was the one who never got hurt but had to watch everyone around him. Then, just before I was transferred to Gibbs' unit, I had to see my squad attempt to rape an innocent woman just because they could. I had to defy them to protect her, and then, I had to see them all die when they stepped on a landmine...because I was running away from them...because they were going to kill me. _That_ is what you gave to me, Admiral McGee. And since I've been back? I can't get away from it. I can't get away from everything that happened out there. It's taken almost a year for me to be able to go for two weeks without forgetting where I am, without thinking that I'm still in Vietnam and under attack. That is why I hate you. That is why I don't even particularly care if you decide to disown me or not. I can't care about that because all I see when I look at you is the same self-righteous man I saw six years ago...someone who didn't care about his son. All he cared about was a name. And I hate you for it. So disown me if you want. I don't care if I see you. You can't keep me from Mom and Sarah. You're almost never home anyway. You wouldn't know if I'd been there or not."

Tim turned to go. That was all he could say without losing it. He heard the scrape of the chair as his father stood up.

"Tim."

Tim ignored it.

Then, there was a restraining hand on his arm. He tensed up and only barely kept himself from turning around and attacking his father. Instead, he roughly pulled his arm away.

"Don't you touch me," he said fiercely.

He looked at his father and at his hand which was hanging motionless in the air.

"That's what you did for me. You ruined my life, Dad. I hope you're proud of that because no matter what else you do, no matter how high you rise through the ranks, you can always look back and see that you valued your family name more than you valued the life of your only son, and he's paying the price for that. Congratulations, Admiral McGee."

Then, Tim turned on his heel and strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Part of him wanted his dad to come out and say he was sorry...if only that were possible. But his dad wasn't like that. Whether he had any regrets or not, he wouldn't tell his son that. That wasn't Admiral McGee.

Regardless, Tim had managed to say what he felt without having a meltdown. That was important. He had been close to losing it, but he hadn't.

He didn't bother to look back. He walked out of the building and back to Jack's truck. He felt kind of bad about having taken it without telling Jack first. It was just that he'd been awake in the night and suddenly _had_ to go. Telling his father off had been a good thing, but he hadn't got what he'd expected. Instead of a battle, he'd had almost no response. ...but then, his father had rarely fought with him. Their fight before he'd left for Vietnam had been out of the ordinary.

Now what?

He got in the truck and looked back toward the building.

"What did I expect?" Tim asked himself. "An apology? From my father?"

He scoffed, started the truck. Before he really made any specific plan, he started driving for home.

Mom would be there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jack sat behind the counter, worrying. He didn't have any phone numbers for Tim's family. For obvious reasons, Tim hadn't shared any contact information. It wasn't even that he was angry about Tim taking the truck. He had told Tim that he was free to use it anytime. It was that, while Tim was doing much better, what had happened as Ducky had tried to help him address his problems with his father was that Tim had become progressively more angry at him. His father had become the person to blame. It was good that Tim was finally moving away from blaming himself for everything, but to put all the blame for what had happened on his father, particularly when he was still having problems controlling his anger, it could lead to more problems.

Tim needed family to worry about him...but Jack wished that he could worry about Tim from close quarters rather than from some far distance.

But really, all he could do was trust that Tim would do the right thing. That was all he could ever do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stopped the truck in front of the house. It still looked the same as it had six years ago. He took a breath. Mom had never said anything about Dad's ultimatum. He couldn't imagine that she felt the same, but was it right to assume that?

He got out of the truck and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. He hesitated.

_Should I knock?_

He knocked.

There was no sound for a few seconds and he started to worry...but then...

"Just a moment! I'll be right there!"

The hope of being accepted made his heart clench. He took a deep breath as the door opened.

There was no recognition for just a second.

"Hi...Mom," Tim said.

"...Tim..."

For another second, his mother stood there, staring at him and then, before he had time to react, he was pulled down into a hug.

"Oh, Tim."

He hugged her back.

"Hi, Mom," he said again.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

Ziva sat down at a desk and began to write. It had been weeks since she'd been able to reply to Tim's last letter, and she didn't want to put it off again.

_Dear Tim,_

_Thank you for the Starbursts. I have actually had something similar when I was in Europe. They are called Opal Fruits. _

_It has been a hard month for me and seeing your letters gives me something to smile about. No, I have not stopped having nightmares, but I am surviving. My father has actually given me time to recover after every mission. He has given up keeping ties to our former country, but I feel he regrets it even as he embraces the U.S. because of its alliance with Israel._

_Spring in Tel Aviv is going on now. We are leaving the rainy season and headed for summer._

_I hope that you are happy._

_Ziva_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim found himself pulled into the house, into the study and then pushed down on the couch. Then, his mother looked him in the eye and analyzed him. He could see it in her eyes. She was seeing how much he'd changed. It was clear enough that she was distressed by what she saw, but Tim just smiled a little.

"I'm different," he said.

"Yes."

"I can't pretend that I'm the same."

"I don't want you to, Tim. I hate that you felt like you had to hide from us."

"Not from you, Mom."

Margaret sighed. "Your father."

"I talked to him."

"You did?"

"Yeah. On base. He didn't say much."

"What did _you_ say?"

Tim hesitated. The anger had ebbed and he wasn't sure he wanted to tell his mother about that.

She noticed.

"Tell me, Tim."

"I told him how much I hate him for what he said before. ...and I do, Mom. I wasn't just saying that. I hate him, and I never thought I would, not through all the times we disagreed on things. But I felt trapped while I was out there. I felt like there was nowhere I could go. Out there, I was always at risk of dying...and there are things that...that happened. I don't want to tell you, Mom. Those things...and I couldn't even think that I could leave eventually. I was stuck there...because of Dad. Mom...I don't...I don't even know...if I want to see him again."

Margaret was quiet for a few seconds. Neither of his parents were particularly talkative and so Tim was used to the silence. ...but still, he felt some need to fill it.

"I hate my own father," he said softly.

Margaret walked over so that she could sit right beside him. She put her arm around his shoulders.

"Tim, what happened to you out there?"

"Bad things," Tim whispered. "Awful things. Some things that I did...some things that I saw..."

"Do you regret going?"

"No, but I regret going with the knowledge that I couldn't come back. I feel like Dad would have been okay if I had died out there so long as I didn't tarnish his reputation."

"That's not true, Tim. Your father has his faults...and we've talked about them quite a bit in the last few months, but he never wanted you dead."

"Then, why couldn't _he_ say it?"

Margaret sighed again. "Because your father doesn't like expressing himself. Not to anyone."

Tim sighed himself. "I don't want to see him, Mom...not until he's willing to...to accept what I chose to do. If he can't say it, then I don't believe he can feel it. I'm his _son_!"

"Yes, you are, and you will _always_ be my son, no matter what your father chooses. Sarah won't reject you, either. She's been really upset since Christmas. I think she hoped you would show up."

"I couldn't."

"I understand, but, Tim, please don't hide yourself from us anymore. When your CO showed up here and...and told me that you'd been back but that you hadn't told us...I was horrified. I was afraid. I wondered if I'd ever see my son again."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't come," Tim said. "And I can't stay. Mom, I'm only barely holding it together as it is. I have...nightmares every night about what happened back there. I have times when...when I've hurt people because I forget where I am. ...and with Dad being the way he is...I can't deal with that. There's too much that I'm trying to deal with."

Margaret nodded. "I won't try to force you, Tim. Please, just don't hide from us. Let us know where you are, what you're doing...and visit us sometimes."

Tim took a breath. As much as he was happy to see his mother, to know that she wasn't rejecting him, he was feeling tense and he wanted to escape from that. The tension was more likely to bring him into a situation that he couldn't control.

"Mom, I will let you...but I can't promise to come...not until I...I feel more...like myself. I don't know when that will be."

"Where _will_ you be, Tim?"

"Pennsylvania, for now. It's a small town...called Stillwater. I've been there for about a year."

"Are you going to finish at MIT?"

"I don't know. Part of me wants to," Tim admitted, "but another part can't imagine going back to something like that. After seeing what people do to each other...something so...so normal... I just don't know."

"Will you let me give you some advice?"

Tim nodded, even as he wanted to get away from the stress.

"You should finish. You should go back and reclaim your life, Tim. I won't pretend that I understand everything. Maybe I don't understand any of it at all, but I know this much: You deserve to have a life. You deserve to be happy. I will support you in anything that gets you what you deserve."

"Thanks. Mom...I have to go."

He thought she'd ask why, but she didn't. Instead, Margaret stood up as Tim did. She hugged him and then let him go.

"Tim, I love you. That will never change."

"I love you, too."

"Then, I'll let you leave," she said with a smile. "But thank you for coming here, for letting me see you, even changed as you are."

Tim smiled a little and then hurried out of the house. He got back into Jack's truck and leaned his head against the seat. Now, what?

Then, the thought came to him that Sarah might want to see him. That was an idea that made him smile a little more.

When he stopped to get gas, he'd call Jack and tell him. If he needed the truck sooner, then, Tim would go back to Stillwater right away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The phone in the back started ringing and Jack answered it as quickly as he could. He was hoping that it would be Tim.

"This is Jack Gibbs."

"_Hi, Jack. It's Tim. I'm sorry I took your truck without asking."_

"Tim, I'm really glad to hear your voice. Are you all right?"

"_I'm okay. Not great, but then, that's nothing new."_

"Where are you?"

"_If you don't mind, I'm on my way to DC...to see Sarah. I won't stay long, but I talked to my dad and to Mom. I'd just like to see my sister."_

"Did your talk go well, then?"

"_With Dad? No."_ Tim sounded upset by that, but he kept talking. _"I shouldn't have expected him to react like a normal person. He said almost nothing. No apology. No regret. Nothing. He hasn't changed."_

Jack could hear Tim's disappointment, but he was glad to hear him being mostly calm about it.

"And your mother?"

"_Mom was happy to see me, but I couldn't stay there and she understood. She said that Sarah misses me. If you don't mind..."_

"I don't mind, Tim. Tell me when you get there...so I don't have to worry."

Tim laughed. _"You sound like my mom."_

"Good," Jack said. Tim _needed_ someone to express concern. "How long will you be gone?"

"_A day or two. It's hard...being around them. I want to have the option...but I want to have the option of _not_ being there."_

"Hard? Why?"

"_Because...of how much I've changed. I see it much more clearly when I'm around them...but they're my family, and I love them."_

"Don't push yourself to do too much, Tim. A day or two is fine. Drive safely."

"_Yeah."_

"Have a nice time, Tim."

"_I'll work on that. Thanks, Jack. Really. Thank you."_

"You're welcome."

Tim said good-bye and hung up. Jack was glad that there was at least a partial acceptance from his family, but it was too bad that his father had been so stubborn. Jack wondered if there was just a matter of pride keeping Tim's father from admitting that he'd been wrong.

Regardless, Jack knew where his sympathies lay...and they weren't with John McGee.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Not bad, DiNozzo. Not bad. Don't let that go to your head, though," Darryl said.

Tony laughed. "But there's so much empty space up there. I need to fill it somehow!"

"Ha. Very funny. You pretend to be a dunce, but I know better."

"Hey, Tony."

"What is it?" Tony asked, looking toward one of the beat cops.

"Who was it that you spent Christmas with?"

Tony's brow furrowed. "Abby?"

"And you didn't bring her here?" Darryl asked teasingly.

Tony grinned. "No way, man. I'm keeping her to myself if I can."

"No, not her. Didn't you say that you went somewhere for dinner?"

Tony refocused on the cop.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Who was there?"

"Ducky...Gibbs...Jimmy... What's with the third degree?"

"Wasn't there a McGee that's a friend of yours?"

"Yeah. Why? What's with all the questions?"

The cop shrugged. "There was a Tim McGee involved in a car accident today. I just got back from it. Thought I remembered the name."

All the jokes were forgotten. Tony walked across the bullpen to get the details.

"What? What happened? Is he all right?"

"Truck ran headlong into a bus. It was totaled. Don't know how it happened. Your friend got put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital here. Doesn't look like anyone on the bus got hurt, though."

"But he was alive, right?"

"Oh, yeah. He was, but he was pretty out of it from what the first responders said. Mumbling stuff about the war...or something like that."

Tony wanted to run to the hospital right then, but how could he do that when he was at work. He'd have to wait until...

"Hey, Tony, I'll cover for you...if Frank asks," Darryl said. "Go check on your buddy."

"Are you sure? We need to report in."

"Go. I can manage...but don't camp out there until your shift is over. Just check on him and come back," Darryl said with a smile.

"Thanks, man. Really."

"You can owe me one."

"Absolutely."

Tony hurried to go check on Tim.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was trying to decide whether or not he had the energy to reach out for the phone and call Jack to apologize for the truck. He wasn't sure how bad the damage was but it was probably really bad. He sighed as he looked at his leg, propped up in a traction splint. He didn't even remember the accident. He'd just been told that there had been one...and that he was the one who had run into something else. ...a bus? Something like that.

The door opened suddenly and Tim tensed up at the quick approach.

"Man, McGee...you sure know how to get yourself into trouble."

"Tony? ...what are _you_ doing here?"

Tony smiled.

"Checking on you."

"How did you know I was here? ...I don't even know exactly where I am."

"Hospital. In Baltimore. Where I work."

Tim smiled a little. "You work at a hospital?"

"Ha. Very funny. Glad you're not in a coma or something."

"No, I just broke my leg." Tim leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I don't even remember the accident."

Tony walked over and sat down.

"What _do_ you remember?"

Tim looked at Tony and a horrible thought struck him.

"Did anyone else get hurt?"

"No. Just you."

"What if I... I had one of those... I could have killed someone, Tony! I didn't even think about that...being a possibility and..."

"Hey, calm down. You don't know that it was," Tony said. "If you can't remember, then..."

"But what if it was!" Tim interrupted. "What if that's what happened? I shouldn't drive anywhere if..."

"Tim, calm down. You don't know that's what happened. What do you remember? Where were you going, anyway?"

"I was coming from my mom's house."

"Hey...you went home?"

"Yeah." Tim couldn't feel too happy about it yet.

"It went bad?"

"Dad didn't really say anything. He didn't say that he was sorry, that he regretted it...nothing. I told him I hated him and...there was no reaction."

Tony winced sympathetically.

"What about your mom?"

"She was glad to see me and said that she wouldn't reject me at all...but...but I didn't feel like I could stay. So I left and I was going to drive down to DC to see Sarah."

"What happened that you remember?"

"I was...getting closer to Baltimore. I didn't even think about the fact that you're here. I was just driving." Tim closed his eyes and tried to bring some memory of the accident to the front...but there was nothing. "I don't remember. I really don't remember. Was it my fault?"

"I don't know, Tim. Really, I don't. I just heard about it from one of the cops at the precinct."

Tim felt like he was failing somehow in not remembering, but he just couldn't bring anything to his mind about it. Something...but no.

"Tim, it's okay. No one on the bus was hurt. The truck was totaled, but..."

"Oh, man. That's what I get."

"For what?" Tony asked.

"For trying to get something done. I destroyed someone else's stuff."

"Hey...you weren't spared this time, Tim. That should make you feel better, right?"

"What?" Tim asked in confusion.

"You always wanted to be the one to suffer. This time, you are. You should be celebrating. This broken leg is probably the best thing that ever happened to you. Right?"

Tim stared at Tony for a long moment and then he let out a laugh.

"You're right. What am I complaining about?" Then, Tim felt like crying, especially when he couldn't really move much, couldn't get out his anxiety with movement. He was stuck in this position for the near future.

Then, he felt Tony squeeze his shoulder.

"You'll be all right, Tim. You call Jack?"

"No," Tim said with a sigh. "Didn't want to tell him that I wrecked his truck."

"Your mom?"

Tim shook his head.

"Did you call _anyone_?"

Tim shook his head again.

"Why not?"

"I just couldn't...do it."

Tony gave him a look.

"You need to call people. Jack won't care."

"Won't care? It's his truck!"

"Okay, he'll care, but not as much as he will about whether or not you're okay."

Tim shook his head.

"My life keeps slipping away, Tony," he said, looking at his leg. "I thought I'd...I'd do something, but I'm just...stuck again."

"This is only temporary."

"Weeks of this."

"Yeah. That's temporary. Besides...I don't want to be mean about it, but what more were you going to do?"

Tim wasn't sure about sharing his thoughts. He was so uncertain about it in the first place that he was leery about putting it out for others to know...if he managed it.

He paused too long. Tony noticed.

"Did you have...an idea, McGee? Were you going to do something?"

Tim shrugged and wouldn't look at Tony.

"Oh, you do! What is it? What's your idea?"

Tim shrugged again.

"Tell me! Come on! You can't leave me in suspense!"

"I was...going to...see if my old advisor would let me back. If he'd still be willing to work with me...so I could finish my degree."

"That's great!" Tony said. "Have you asked him yet?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. I'm afraid of doing it."

"You've got to do it, Tim. If that's what you want to do, then, you need to do it."

Tim forced a laugh. "I can't do it right now."

"Yeah, you can! You just need an address. I'll find that if you don't have it. I'll get you a piece of paper. Heck, I'll even drop it in the mail for you!"

Tim smiled, touched by Tony's insistence.

"Tony...when I joined the Marines...my advisor told me that I was making a huge mistake. He was against the war. I don't know if he'll want a vet."

"You won't know if you don't ask."

"I know."

Tim tensed up, feeling that antsy feeling of wanting to move around.

"I hate being stuck in this bed," he said softly.

He started shaking a little.

"I don't want to...be stuck here."

"Hey, look at me, Tim."

Tim looked at Tony.

"Take a breath."

Tim did.

"Just relax. You'll be in this for weeks, as you said, but it'll be okay. But if you start wigging out, you're going to hurt yourself more...and that just means more time spent like this. So relax, let the docs take care of you...and focus on what you're going to write in your letter to your advisor."

Tim took a breath.

"I'm used to being able to move."

"I know. I remember you running or doing push-ups when you were upset by things. You're going to have to find another way to calm down."

"Yeah."

"Hey, anything I can get you?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. That's easy. I have to go back to work and finish my shift, but I'll come by this evening. Okay?"

"Thanks, Tony."

"My pleasure. In the meantime, you'd better call Jack and your mom, at least."

"Yes, sir," Tim said and saluted.

"Don't you start that with me. Bad enough that Gibbs never could get you to stop calling him by his title. I'm no officer."

Tim smiled. It was strange how much just a quick visit in the midst of his new injury could make him feel better.

"I'll work on that."

"Do," Tony said. "See you later."

"Bye."

After Tony left, Tim took a breath and looked at the phone. He did need to call Jack.

He reached out and picked up the phone. Then, he figured out how to dial out of the hospital. It took some doing.

"_This is Jack."_

"Hi, Jack. It's Tim."

"_You made it?"_

"Uh...no. I didn't."

"_What?"_

"I'm really sorry, Jack. I wrecked your truck."

"_You were in an accident? Are you all right?"_

"I broke my leg and I feel like someone used me for a punching bag. I don't remember the accident, but...but Tony told me that the truck is totaled. I'm really sorry."

"_But you're okay."_

"Besides the broken leg."

"_Right. Besides that."_

"Yeah. I'm sorry I wrecked your truck."

"_Tim, the truck can be fixed. It's old. I'm just glad that you're all right."_

"I'm going to be stuck here for weeks now. I don't know what you want to do about the truck."

"_Tim, I don't care about the truck. I'll figure that out. I care about whether or not you'll be all right."_

"I'm in Baltimore. Tony's already visited me. Jack...I feel bad about asking this but..."

"_What?"_

"Would you call my mom for me? Tell her that I'm okay. It's just that...if my dad answered..."

"_Yeah. I'll do that. Give me the number and I'll call her for you."_

"Thanks."

Tim gave the number, let Jack reassure him a few times and then he hung up. He hated to be trapped anywhere, but as Tony had said, he needed to stay calm. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and tried to relax.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony called Gibbs and told him what had happened when he finished his shift. Darryl had smoothed things over with Frank and since Tony _had_ come back, he was willing to overlook his momentary desertion. After work, Tony tried to think of something to take Tim, something to distract him from the fact that he was pretty much stuck where he was. Then, he had an idea.

Tim had said once that he was a book guy, that he liked to read. He hadn't had any time for it really in Vietnam, but here was a chance for him to get back into that. Reading would be a great chance for him to relax while he healed.

Decision made, Tony headed to a bookstore and started scanning the shelves for books to buy. He found a few new releases that he thought might appeal to a geek like Tim had claimed he used to be. Then, he saw it. The perfect book for Tim. In fact, as he flipped through the pages, this book might as well have had Tim's name on it. Tony couldn't stop grinning as he headed for the counter to buy the books.

When he got back to the hospital, he hurried to Tim's room.

Tim was dozing, but Tony couldn't wait to see what he thought of the books; so he woke him up.

"Hey, McGee. Surprise!"

Tim's eyes were kind of heavy but they opened.

"What?"

"Surprise! Something to distract you when you need distracting."

Tony set the stack of books on Tim's lap.

"Tony...did you buy all these?"

"Yep."

"You didn't have to do that. Really."

"I know. I wanted to. I don't know if they're your taste, but if not, let me know and I can get you others."

"But, Tony..."

"Stop questioning. Just look at the top one first. I want to know what you think of it," Tony said eagerly.

Tim looked at the book.

"This is a children's book."

"Read the title, McGee. Out loud."

Tim looked at it and laughed a little but did as he was told.

"_Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day._ What is this?" Tim asked.

"A book that might as well have had your name instead of Alexander."

Tim read the book silently, flipping through the pages. When he finished, Tony saw him mouth the words _even in Australia._

"What do you think?"

Tim looked up and laughed, but there were some tears in his eyes, too.

"Perfect, Tony. Really."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Good. I have one more thing for you."

"What's that?"

Tony held out a pen and a notepad.

"So you can write your letter to your advisor."

Tim took them and looked at them...and then, at the stack of books. He was quiet for a few seconds.

"I used to like reading," he said softly.

Tony sat down.

"You can do that again."

"Maybe."


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Tim managed to put off writing to his advisor for a couple of weeks before he finally gave in to Tony's prodding. In the meantime, he started reading the books Tony brought him. Sarah came up to visit him. Margaret came down to visit him. Jack came to make arrangements for his truck and to visit. Ducky came and spoke with Tim about every other day. The forced stillness had Tim grasping at whatever would distract him from his chaotic thoughts, and without realizing it, he started to rely more on other people to help him.

He also started reading more. There were times that Ducky would come to see him and Tim wouldn't even notice him for a few minutes after he came in the room. It was nice to see Tim in a situation where he was distracted because of a pleasant task rather than because of his darker thoughts. He still had nightmares most nights and Ducky had been required to tell the hospital staff about the problems Tim had been having because he had a couple of episodes while he was in the hospital and his leg in traction made it more difficult. Thankfully, someone had been on hand both times.

Today, however, there was an important letter that had arrived at the hospital. Tony brought it and was happy that Ducky was already there to talk to Tim when he came. Just in case.

"Hey, anything exciting?" he asked.

Tim looked away from Ducky.

"Are you kidding? I'm going to go crazy for real if I don't get out of this rig soon."

"Well, I have something to distract you," Tony said and held up the letter.

"What is it?" Tim asked.

"From MIT."

Tim swallowed audibly.

"Oh."

"Don't leave us in suspense, Tim! Open it!" Tony said and thrust it at Tim.

Tim took it and looked at the envelope.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs dismissed his students. This course of training was nearing its end. His Marines had dinner in the mess. Many had been filtered out over time as was usual, but he had a good group...not that he'd actually tell them that during training. He'd been transferred to Quantico just a couple of months before to take on the sniper training there. He found it to be an enjoyable shift, using the skills he had to train others to do the same thing.

"Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs."

Gibbs turned.

"Yes, PFC Fallan?"

"You've been requested for a meeting at headquarters."

Gibbs nodded but inside he was wondering why he was being summoned. It was possible that he was going to be forced to accept a promotion. He'd been resisting being promoted to Master Sergeant because he much preferred what he was doing now. The higher the promotion, the broader the responsibilities. He didn't need the money, living by himself. There was really no incentive for him to move up.

Still, one couldn't refuse a summons; so he walked over to the headquarters and was conducted to a conference room.

The sight that greeted him was not what he had expected. Instead of one of his superiors, what he saw was an admiral. For a moment, he wasn't sure why this man looked familiar to him, but then, it came to him.

"Admiral McGee," he said.

Admiral McGee looked surprised.

"Have we met, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs?"

"No, we haven't, sir. I know who you are, though."

"Do you, then, know why I'm here?" he asked, sounding more than a little stiff.

"I would assume that you are going to ask me about your son, but beyond that, I don't know. Sir."

Gibbs hid his surprise at seeing the elder McGee. The stern, commanding expression was familiar from the family portrait. He hadn't expected ever to see the man himself. He had kept himself from confronting John McGee, although he had wanted to. Now, the man himself was here, and Gibbs wasn't sure why.

"You were my son's CO."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, sir." Gibbs wasn't sure he'd ever felt less respect in the title.

Admiral McGee apparently felt some of that because he stiffened even more.

"Was there a question I could answer for the Admiral, sir?"

"I looked at my son's record."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Why did you keep him?"

"He had a good record."

"He was transferred many times before being a part of your team."

"Yes, he was. He had no black marks against him. I don't see why it's strange that I kept him. Sir."

"I saw what happened just before he was transferred to your team. The death of his entire squad and the way he changed his story. And after he was on your team, there were some minor altercations on base, involving my son."

Gibbs took a chance.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

Gibbs geared himself to make a speech. He didn't make speeches. It went against his principles, generally, but in this case, he'd been saving the words up for quite some time. They'd had a chance to build up even more than usual.

"It sounds to me as though you're trying to find something wrong with your son's service in Vietnam, something to justify your actions. I'm sorry, sir, but you're not going to find that. Your son served honorably in Vietnam. He refused to compromise his morals, even when that went against what was being done by his squad when they threatened to _rape_ an innocent woman. He stopped them from doing that. He saved my life. He saved the life of his comrade more than once. I trusted him and felt no regret in keeping him on my team. He received an honorable discharge which he deserved. Your son is a good Marine, and all he did was disagree with you and you threatened to take away what he valued most."

Admiral McGee stiffened. "I _never_ threatened my son."

"You told him that he wouldn't have a family if he left Vietnam before the war was over. You don't consider that a threat?"

"He was threatening the McGee name."

"I don't know anything about that," Gibbs said. "Names don't tend to mean much to me."

"We have an honor to uphold."

"By being a good person. Are you going to say that you believe the skewed perspective in the news here?"

"Perception matters."

"To you, I guess it does. The truth matters more to me than what a bunch of talking heads say."

"Are you going to say that there's no truth to the massacre at My Lai, to the tens of thousands of civilians killed in a civil war because of our intervention?"

"Are you going to persist in ignoring what your son actually did?"

"Meaning?"

His voice was as stiff as ever.

"Your son was not at My Lai. He never killed civilians. In fact, he went out of his way to keep them safe. I witnessed that with my own eyes. He risked a lot by trying to make sure that a village which was attacked by the Viet Cong was safe and he succeeded. I could give you a long list of honorable things your son has done. Can you give me anything that he has done wrong in the Marine Corps? Anything at all?"

"The war isn't over."

"It might as well be. The end is coming and everyone can see it. Your son served for nearly four years without reprieve. The Korean War lasted less time than your son was in Vietnam."

"He knew what he was getting into."

Gibbs let himself laugh incredulously.

"No one knows what to expect before getting into combat. That's not something you can train for, and his first exposure to combat was worse than most get. I'm sure you would never shirk your duties, but if you were on that hill, you wouldn't be saying what you're saying. The fact that he survived and continued to fight without complaint should tell you all you need to know about your son. ...but then, you shouldn't need to be told what kind of a man your son is. You should know that already."

"I know my son."

"I don't think you do. Not at all. Sir, you are an admiral in the Navy. You have earned that position and the respect that goes along with it, but you have _not_ earned the position that should have been more important. You don't deserve to be Tim's father because either you don't know your son at all or you are ignoring who your son is and what he's done in favor holding on to your ego. While I may have to respect you as an admiral, I don't respect you as a person." He paused. His entire statement had been spoken bluntly but without a lot of emotion. "Was there anything else, sir?"

He was surprised that Admiral McGee made no comment.

"No. You're dismissed, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs."

Gibbs knew himself to be fairly stoic, but he'd never seen someone who showed absolutely nothing like this. How could he listen to all that and feel nothing? He saluted and started to leave the room, but then, he turned back. There was one thing he felt still needed to be said. Maybe Admiral McGee would hear it.

"Tim is in a hospital after a serious accident that could have killed him. He's lucky that all he got was a broken leg. Your _son_ could have died, Admiral McGee, and instead of visiting him, instead of talking to your son, making sure he was all right, you came here to find out if there was something he'd done wrong in spite of his record. Tim worried about losing you as his father the entire time he was in Vietnam. Why do you think he never went home when he came back two years ago? He didn't want to lose his father and his attitude toward you now is a result of the total betrayal you gave to him. He didn't want to lose his father but his father didn't care about losing his son. And the worst of it is, Tim would have forgiven you before. I don't know if he can now and I certainly don't think he should. Good day, Admiral McGee."

Then, Gibbs left the room feeling much better. He had wished for the opportunity to give Tim's father a piece of his mind, a few pieces, actually. He just couldn't believe that any man would reject his son over something so nebulous as family honor when the reason for worrying about it was created in his own mind.

He hoped that Tim wouldn't lose any more sleep over this man until his father attempted to gain forgiveness. Gibbs, being the man he was, didn't think that Tim should forgive his father, but it wasn't his decision and if Tim wanted to, he'd support him.

As he headed back to his students, making sure that they'd left everything in perfect order, Gibbs had another thought.

He hoped that John McGee might make the effort that it would take to be worthy of having a son like Timothy McGee.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Come on, Tim. Open it. It won't change if you don't."

"I can't go yet anyway," Tim said softly. "I'm still stuck in this stupid bed, with this stupid broken leg."

"Doesn't matter. Open it."

"Open it and see what there is to see, Timothy," Ducky added.

Tim leaned back against the pillows for a few seconds and then nodded. He straightened as much as he could and then ripped open the envelope. This wouldn't be an official admission letter. It was from his old advisor, but it was more important than an admission letter. Tim knew he could be readmitted. It was a matter of whether or not the people there would _accept_ him.

He looked at the letter.

"Read it aloud if you don't mind, Tim," Tony suggested. "We'd love to hear."

Tim cleared his throat. The letter wasn't long.

"'Dear Tim...'" Tim took a breath and continued. "'I received your letter. I'm relieved that you survived your military service in Vietnam. You were gone longer than I would have expected of you and I thought it likely that you had been killed in action like so many other poor souls. Receiving your letter was a wonderful piece of news for me and for the other faculty in the department. Obviously, most of the students you attended with have graduated already. As for your question about whether or not you would be welcomed back as a veteran, I wish that you didn't feel the question was necessary to ask, but I know why you feel that way and I apologize for my harsh words when you left. If your intention is to return and complete your Master's degree, I speak for the department when I say that we would be happy to have you come. If you fill out the required forms which I have included in this correspondence, you can begin with the new academic year in September. I look forward to seeing your name on the admissions list. Sincerely, Professor Harold Sumter.'"

Tim was quiet for a few seconds and then let out a whoosh of air. He looked tentatively up at Tony and Ducky.

"That's excellent, Tim!" Tony said excitedly. "You're going back to being a geek! That's excellent!"

Tim smiled. "I hope so."

"It will be. You'll see. Now, you have something to look forward to when you get out of this stuff."

Tim looked at Ducky.

"What if I still have problems...and I know I will? Ducky, what if..."

"You will learn to weather those storms when they come, and I will still be willing to help you as I did while you were in Stillwater. Personal visits will be nearly impossible, but I will still be available. If you are open and honest with the people who are in your sphere, then, you will be more likely to succeed with them and with yourself." Ducky patted Tim on the shoulder. "You have the chance to gain more than you might have otherwise, Timothy. Accept it and let your life become your own again."

Tim looked at the letter and then at Tony who seemed almost giddy at Tim's good news. He had seemed to move extremely smoothly from military to civilian life. Tim's road had been full of road blocks, dead ends, twists and turns until Tim himself had been ready to give up. Now, as Ducky said, he had a chance for more. It was terrifying. It was anxiety-inducing. It could all blow up in his face again.

...and yet...it was what he wanted more than anything.

A real life. The life he'd willingly set aside years before to answer a call for aid.

Now, it could be his again, although Tim was still skeptical that it could be the same as it was. He was too much changed. The periods of anger were much less but they still happened. The anxiety was still there, but the lead balloon was much smaller. The nightmares weren't going away, but at least he was at the point where he remembered that they _were_ nightmares. The episodes...those were lessened, but they were still frightening when they happened. Would they ever leave him completely? He didn't know. Probably not, but it was a chance he could take and hope for better.

Hope. Something he'd lacked before.

And now, because of an accident, he'd somehow gained it again. Who would have thought that a broken leg could have led to this?

"Timothy?"

"I'd...never forgive myself if I didn't try," Tim said softly. "I can't not do it."

Tony nodded.

"Exactly."

"So...I guess I'm going," Tim said and then smiled a little. "...as soon as I get this junk off my leg."

Tony let out a whoop and said Tim had to call everyone and tell them everything, that if he didn't Tony would for him. He did say that he'd tell Abby himself, though.

And Tim leaned back in the bed and thought about the decision he'd made.

Was it the right one? Probably.

Would his dad be proud of it? Tim sighed inwardly. No, even if his dad knew about it, it wouldn't be enough. It never was.

But he was going to do it. He'd made the decision.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

_Dear Tim,_

_I am glad that you are going back to school. I can see you very easily in a university...more than in the jungle, although I did see you there. I hope that you will tell me when you finish. If I can, I would love to see you graduate, to see you happy. I do not think I have ever seen you that way._

_I do not have much time, but I wanted to thank you for your friendship. I have enjoyed your letters._

_Ziva._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim applied to MIT and was admitted. Once he was released from the hospital, he went back to Stillwater for a few weeks and then made the move up to Boston. It was a stressful event for him, and he reconsidered it multiple times before his first meeting with his old advisor.

However, by the time classes started, he was ready to get back into the flow of school. The problem was that, while he recognized how much he himself had changed, he hadn't realized how much that would impact his view of schooling. It wasn't that he didn't want it, but he got frustrated more often than he expected. He had a major blow-up in one class and then had to go and talk to Dr. Sumter to explain the problems he was having. He apologized for his behavior, but the damage had been done. Many of the students were much more likely to avoid him than speak to him and when he was in a class, there was a lot of awkward silence.

Tim almost gave up, but he was encouraged to keep trying by all his friends and his mother and sister. He had no interactions with his father, and while he still regretted it and felt some hurt from the rejection, he had to admit that knowing he'd given his dad a chance to change his mind kept him from dwelling on it as much as he might have otherwise.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Dear Ziva,_

_Thanks for the gift. It's beautiful. I don't think I've ever heard of challah before, but I'll certainly try to find someplace to buy it now just so that I can use the board._

_I don't blame you for being ambivalent about how things are changing over there. I saw the news about what happened in Munich. It's horrible. I can't understand why anyone would want to attack the innocent. It seems to be happening more and more. It does seem to be a case of continual retaliation. I wonder how much longer it can go on. For your sake, I hope something changes._

_There's a student here. Her name is Erin. She's one of the few female students working with computers here. She's also one of the few students in the program who is willing to associate with me at all. It's nice to have a friend. I think she's sticking with me, at least partially, because she can escape the awkwardness with most of the men in the department. It's hard for the female students because there are so few of them and a lot of the guys just don't know what to do. If they'd just act normal, it'd be fine._

_Please stay safe._

_Tim._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

In 1973, after the Paris Peace Accords, Tony followed the news about Operation Homecoming. Some of the POWs coming home had been prisoners for six years or more. It was one of those things that brought home how lucky he was and why should he keep waiting for something else when he could grab hold of what he already had.

Decision made, he took a spur-of-the-moment trip to New Orleans...with a ring in his pocket. He took Abby out for a weekend and then popped the question, coming just short of begging her to move to Baltimore and marry him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Dear Tim,_

_I will confess that I am surprised Tony is getting married. He did not strike me as that kind of person. Abby put out the image of being a rebel of sorts, but I can see her being thrilled at being able to be married. I hope they will be happy._

_I will not depress you with the latest news from Israel, but my father is determined to find some security in our country. He has become more ruthless than I would ever have thought from my memories of childhood. But you and I both know how struggle can change people._

_I am not sure Laffy Taffy candy is my favorite that you have sent me, but I enjoy trying them. I am glad that you do not mind sending these sweets to me._

_I am safe enough for now._

_Ziva._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs never told Tim about his conversation with his father. He figured that Tim didn't need to know about it. However, he was surprised that he never heard anything about it from any of his superiors. He was happy to let Tim move on and stop thinking about getting his father's approval.

He continued to train snipers at Quantico. It turned out that he fit in the role a lot better than he'd ever have thought he could. This kind of teaching suited him. He enjoyed his position and he was able to take some time off to reconnect with his father as well as to maintain the friendship he had with Ducky. He also kept his eye on his team. He attended Tony and Abby's wedding and enjoyed seeing the offbeat couple. He'd never have expected that. Still, he was happy to see Tony creating his own family. His father had shown up at the wedding, too, but it was clear that their relationship was distant at best. It wasn't acrimonious in any way, but it wasn't close. Abby's family had been extremely friendly and loved Tony.

All in all, he considered his life to be pretty good. He had family, friends, a good job, and hobbies.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Dear Ziva,_

_I hit a bad stretch in the last few weeks. That's why I haven't written you. I've been trying to deal with it. The short version is that I ran into a group of anti-war protesters, even though the war is officially over. I was out-numbered, and while there was no physical altercation, I came away feeling like the bad guy. They were calling me a murderer and other awful things. I ended up hiding in my apartment for days. I skipped classes, unplugged the phone and locked my door. Erin got someone to break in, basically, and I've been reluctantly reconnecting. One of the things about being in Stillwater was that I could hide from that stuff. Seeing it again is hard._

_Now that I'm reluctantly attending classes again, I am enjoying it. Professor Sumter has been very understanding and he doesn't try to make me regret my service._

_I've been reading more about Judaism just in the hopes of learning about your culture. I am still amazed that you have a country after so many years of exile. I'm not really a churchgoer, but I've been praying for you...if the prayers of a Christian are okay for a Jew._

_Tim._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim didn't go home for Thanksgiving or Christmas again in 1973. Instead, he joined Ducky whose mother died at the beginning of November. Tony and Abby came as well. Gibbs and Jack were invited, too, and it became another holiday spent in each other's company. There was one addition to the group at Thanksgiving: Tim's sister Sarah. She couldn't bear the thought of spending another major holiday separated from her brother and so she also came to Ducky's house in Reston. Jimmy and Breena were spending the holiday with family.

At the holiday, he talked with Ducky more about his continuing problems. It had now been close to four years since he had come back from Vietnam and yet he still had the nightmares and he still suffered from the occasional flashback as the episodes were starting to be called. More and more of the psychiatric community was viewing the kinds of problems Tim was having as an actual disorder, not just an issue unique to him and his situation. The upshot of that was the validation that he was not just weak. It made the continuing problem easier to deal with.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Dear Tim,_

_I will not be able to come to your graduation although I wish I could. Circumstances will not allow it. There is too much chaos after the war last year as well as the massacres. I thought that the deaths of children in Vietnam was the worst I could have seen. It is not. I feel those who would take children hostage and kill them should spend all of eternity suffering for what they do._

_Please know that I will be thinking of you on the day of your graduation. I liked the Tootsie Rolls, and I was surprised that the company was founded by a Jew._

_Good luck, and now that you are finishing, I hope that you get the job you want._

_Ziva._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim wasn't sure about what was coming. Graduation meant lots of people seeing him all at once and he was afraid of having some kind of a meltdown again. He took a breath and looked at himself in the mirror. No putting it off. Sarah and his mom would be on campus already. He couldn't keep hiding out.

As if to remind him of that, there was a knock on the door. He walked over and opened it.

"Come on, Tim. I'm not letting you hide in here anymore," Erin said. "It's time to graduate and you're not making me march by myself."

Tim smiled.

"Okay, okay. I was just getting ready to leave when you knocked. Honestly."

"Good. Let's go. Everything will be fine, especially if you stop worrying about it."

"Yeah, I know." Tim took another breath and let Erin drag him out of the apartment. They walked to campus together. Erin gestured for Tim to go find his family while she scouted out hers.

"Tim! Over here!"

He heard Sarah's call and walked over to a small knot of people. When he got there, he realized that there were more people than he'd expected. Sarah still looked a little awkward, as she always had since he'd come back from Vietnam. He supposed he couldn't blame her, but it was sad sometimes that his little sister wasn't comfortable around him anymore.

The others didn't show any of that. Tony and Abby were there, and Tim was amazed anew at how different Abby was. He'd seen a glimpse of a tattoo when she was in Vietnam. She had them on display now. More than one...and yet, somehow, it worked for her. Tony seemed positively staid beside her, but his jaunty grin showed that he didn't care one bit. Gibbs still looked the same. Same military haircut, same stern expression although he did smile when Tim joined them. Ducky was looking older, but still much the same. Jack was standing by Gibbs and when Gibbs smiled, they looked the same. Tim spared a thought to wishing that Ziva was there, too, but he pushed that away. He didn't want to mar this day with wishes that couldn't happen.

He came over and modeled his graduation robes.

"What do you think?" he asked with a smile.

They all applauded.

"You look great, Tim!" Abby said.

"Thanks, Abby. I'd rather just skip the ceremony, though."

"You're doing the right thing, Tim," Gibbs said. "Don't let anyone else take that from you."

Tim nodded.

After a few minutes, it was time to go and line up. Tim met up with Erin and they headed in. They marched to the commencement space. The speeches were typical and Tim didn't pay much attention to them. Then, they were called up to march across the stage. Tim applauded loudly when Erin's named was called. A few minutes later, Tim heard his name. He stood up and headed for the stage.

He heard the applause...but then, there was something else behind the sound of the applause. He paused and looked out and saw the same group who had dogged him the year before. They were making catcalls and shouting epithets at him. Tim felt the lead balloon swell up in his stomach and all the satisfaction from finishing his degree vanish. He walked to where the president of the university was waiting to give him his degree. He couldn't even muster a smile.

Then, he heard something else cutting across the silence that had fallen in the wake of the shouting. He wasn't sure what it was at first, but then, he started to hear words and he paused again although he wanted nothing more than to run off the stage.

"_...for right and freedom  
__and to keep our honor clean  
__We are proud to claim the title  
__Of United States Marine."_

It was the Marine's Hymn. Tony, Gibbs, Jack and Abby had started singing it at the top of their lungs. As he stood there, he saw others stand up and start singing as well...including Erin among the graduates. To his surprise, though, she wasn't the only one. He didn't know that she even knew the words.

"_Here's health to you and to our Corps  
__Which we are proud to serve;  
__In many a strife we've fought for life  
__And never lost our nerve;  
__If the Army and the Navy  
__Ever look on Heaven's scenes;  
__They will find the streets are guarded  
__By United States Marines."_

By the last verse, even some of the faculty on the stage were singing along. The catcalls were drowned out. He felt someone behind him.

"Go on down, son."

Tim looked back over his shoulder. It was the president of MIT. He gave Tim a sympathetic smile.

"Go on."

Tim nodded and hurried off the stage, back to his seat. He didn't hear a word for the rest of the ceremony. When it was over, he left as soon as he could get out of his seat. A lot of the graduates congratulated him when he passed them, but Tim just wanted to get away. He reached the open air. Then, he was surrounded by his friends and family.

Tim closed his eyes.

"Will I ever get away from that?" he asked softly.

"Not with some people," Gibbs said. "You can't listen to them. Listen to the people who matter."

"Thanks for singing," Tim said.

"It was nice to get to sing it again," Tony said. "Haven't had many reasons to do it. There's a great movie about the Marine Corps. _Halls of Montezuma._ I saw it once as part of a double feature."

Tim looked at Tony and smiled.

"I saw that one."

"You did? I didn't think you were a movie guy."

Tim shrugged.

"Where do you think I got the idea to join the Marine Corps?"

Tony gave Tim a hearty thump on the back.

"I hate being a target," Tim said.

Margaret hugged him.

"You've done a wonderful job, Tim. Don't let them ruin your day. This is an important step you've taken."

Then, she added in a whisper, "Your father is proud of you, too. Maybe some day, he'll come to his senses and tell you himself."

They went to a nice restaurant for dinner, although Tim still wanted to hide away, but while they were eating he had a thought.

"I hated that up on the stage," he said.

Everyone quieted down.

"I really hated it. I almost felt sick...hearing them." He looked around at them. "But I didn't...I didn't have a flashback. I didn't...lose control. That's...getting better, isn't it?"

"Absolutely, Timothy," Ducky said quickly. Maybe a bit _too_ quickly. "You are much improved from when I saw you the first time after your return."

"But I'll never be the same."

"No. Likely not, but you're getting your life back together and that matters."

Tim nodded.

"I just wanted to say it," he said with a weak smile. "I've complained enough. I figured I could say something positive...just once."

Sarah hugged him tightly.

"You'll always be my brother, Tim. No matter what."

Tim hugged her back.

"Thanks, Sarah."

After dinner, they went their separate ways, but Tim was awake for a long time that night. Remembering the past. Remembering who and what he had been.

"_I, Timothy McGee, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the Orders of the Officers appointed over me, according to the regulations and the uniform code of military justice. So help me God."_

He had felt a part of something larger than himself, more important than himself. He had been a part of a group, part of a team. He had been full of a desire to do more and be more. His time spent in Vietnam had changed him, had tempered that desire, but it hadn't removed it. Even with all the problems he'd had in the past and the problems he would face in the future, that was still what he wanted and he didn't regret going. He wasn't sure what he'd end up doing with his life now, but he was sure that he couldn't hide as he sometimes wanted to, still. There were too many things wrong with the world for him to keep away from it.

Finally, late in the night, he got up from his bed, turned on a lamp and started to write.

_Dear Ziva,_

_I can't explain how I feel right now in words, but something happened today. Well, a lot of things happened today. It was graduation. I wished that you had been here, but I understand that you can't. I've realized that I can't accept doing nothing. No more than I could have stood by while my squad attacked you. I can't stand aside and let the world get worse without at least trying to make it better._

_I don't know where that will lead me, but it is something I feel has to guide whatever choice I make. With all the problems I'm still having, I need to be true to who I am and what I really want._

_I hope that I can see you again some day._

_Stay safe,_

_Tim_


	39. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_November 13, 1982_

It was an important day, and Tim wouldn't miss it for the world. No matter how much he still disliked going out in big crowds, he'd have to be dead to miss this. He saw the clouds and hoped that the weather wouldn't be too bad. It was really early. He hadn't slept well overnight and it was still almost dark outside.

He dressed very carefully and then left his apartment. He walked to the Metro station, being fortunate to live close to it, and headed to the Mall.

There would be a bigger event later, but there was something that he needed to do first.

After he got off the Metro, he walked slowly through the gloom, across the National Mall, until two long black slabs of gabbro came into view. He was unsurprised that there were a few other people there already.

He walked over to a stand holding a book. He looked through it, found a name, and headed to the wall. Carefully, without any hurry, he dragged finger along the names, crouching down as he reached the bottom of the list, and then stopped on one.

James Dillon Nelson.

He rubbed his hand over the name and looked into the reflective surface of the rock. It was almost as though he could see Jim standing on the other side, staring back at him. Tim leaned his head forward and rested it on the wall. He looked at the wall again and saw other names, the other men he'd served with so briefly. Loren Davidson. Allen Michael Laurent. Mark Antoine Mellon. Too many others, but it was Jim's name he kept coming back to. Then, another thought came to him. He got to his feet and found another day, another set of names. Robert Washington. Frank Williams. Daryn Nathan Larson. And four others. He stared at them for a long time. The men who had been ready to kill him but had, instead, died themselves. He avoided seeing his reflection here. If they were looking back at him, he didn't want to see them.

"I thought you might be here."

Tim turned around quickly, tensing up at the sudden voice. It was Jim's dad.

"Hi," he said. "Jim's name is over there." He pointed back.

"Show me?"

Tim nodded and gladly left behind the names of his old squad. He went to the slab and pointed to Jim's name, feeling the same stab of grief that he'd felt ever since that battle.

"He's right here," Tim said, feeling his throat tighten.

Jim knelt down and brushed his fingers over the name. Then, he got to his feet again and stared at the wall.

"I can still hear him," Tim whispered. "I can hear all the sounds of that hill."

"You know others in this spot?"

Tim nodded.

"A lot of them. They died the same day. Same battle. But not me." Tim could feel tears in his eyes. "I felt like I got left behind. It's selfish, but I did." He took a breath.

"You did get left behind, but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing."

"Yeah. I know. Most of the time, I know that. Not always. Not even now...all these years later." Tim looked at Jim. "They've given what I have a name now. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't."

Tim nodded. "They're calling it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Kind of a mouthful, but it's being recognized as something real. I still am...getting help for it. It's less of a problem than it was, but I still have trouble."

"You look a lot more stable than you did."

"I feel more stable...most of the time. Sometimes, it's still hard."

"That's all right, you know."

"I know."

"Are you going to the dedication?"

Tim nodded.

"I don't really want to, but I think I need to. I need to be here for that. I'm going to go to the National Cathedral, too. This is what we should have got when we came back. It's almost ten years late, and I owe it to all the men on this wall to be there...to honor the sacrifice they made. This country didn't honor them until now, and I need to give them that honor."

Tim straightened his shoulders.

"Today isn't just for us. It's for them." He jerked his head toward the wall. "It's for Jim."

"Sometimes, I wonder what my son would have done with his life if he'd survived," Jim said softly. "It's a loss to the country that he died."

Tim felt the tears again as he nodded. They stood together and stared at the wall for a few minutes. Then, Jim, Senior, patted Tim on the shoulder and left him to his solitary contemplation of the wall.

Tim stayed there until the crowds started coming. He looked around and saw Tony and Abby arriving. He walked over to them.

"Hey, Tim. Long time, no see," Tony said.

Tim nodded. "I know. Funny how easy it is to drift apart. You seen Gibbs lately?"

Tony shook his head.

"Tony's such a homebody," Abby said. "I've tried to get him to go traveling on our vacations and he just wants to stay home and watch movies."

Tim laughed.

"I just said that I'd seen enough of the world already, and I needed to make up for it by planting my feet very firmly on U.S. soil," Tony said, stomping his feet. "But I wouldn't have missed this for anything."

"Me, neither."

"What about Ducky?"

"I've seen him a lot. I've spent a lot of holidays at his place."

"You still aren't going home?" Tony asked.

"Not much. Mostly when Dad's traveling. He's been supervising some project or another."

"You aren't talking to him?"

"I said what I had to say already. It's up to him to say something to change things," Tim said. "He hasn't."

Tony looked almost pained, but Tim smiled.

"It's not a problem...not a _big_ problem, anyway. I've had years to get used to it."

"You shouldn't have to. I still don't get your dad at _all_. _My_ dad is at least just too disinterested to be involved."

"My dad won't admit to being wrong. That's not who he is. That's not how he became an admiral."

"We wanted to get a look at the wall before the dedication."

"I'm heading to the Cathedral. They're reading out the names of everyone."

"Everyone who died?"

Tim nodded.

"Hey...wait for us?"

Tim nodded, but he didn't want to stay in the crowds.

"I'll be over by Lincoln. Okay?"

"Sure. See you in a few."

Tim nodded and walked over to the Lincoln Memorial. He sat down on the steps and tried to relax in the face of the coming stress of being in such large crowds. It was going to be a long day. Worth it, but still long.

Someone came and sat by him.

"Thought I saw you at the wall."

Tim looked over.

"Hey, Gibbs."

"Big day."

"Yeah. Big day. This should have happened a long time ago. Maybe not the monument, but the welcome, the honor. It shouldn't have taken so many years."

"You're right."

Tim looked out over the Mall.

"I guess it's better late than never...but with everything that we have gone through... It makes me a little mad that it took so long."

"Just a little?" Gibbs asked.

Tim smiled.

"Yeah, just a little." Tim leaned back. "I wasn't sure if I really wanted to do this today, but I wanted to be here."

"How's the job?"

Tim laughed a little.

"It's classified."

Gibbs laughed, too.

"Really."

"Yeah. I'm doing some...military research."

"With computers?"

Tim smiled.

"Of course."

"Good."

Gibbs got up. Tim saw Tony and Abby coming up the stairs. He met them halfway and they went to the National Cathedral together. For a few hours, they sat in the Cathedral, listening as volunteers read the names of the fallen. Nothing brought home the sheer number of people who had been lost than hearing the names spoken, one at a time without rushing. It was going to take hours, maybe even days, to read them all. Name after name was read out. They didn't stop. Fifty-eight thousand names. That meant the deaths of 58,000 men. After a few hours, they all had to leave. Sure, it wasn't as high a number as had died in the world wars, but it was still enough that they couldn't keep listening. Even with all the time they spent there, they didn't hear the names of people they knew. That's how many names there were.

The dedication would come later; so they went, by unspoken consent, to get lunch together. They found Ducky and had him come with them. It became time to assemble for the parade. They walked together to the assembly spot. They found Ron Sacks, Stan Burley, even Ned Dorneget while they were walking, and it was a chance to catch up. They were actually enjoying themselves, but then, there was something else.

...or rather, some_one_ else.

"Tim?"

It was a voice Tim hadn't heard in almost ten years. He looked at Gibbs who was facing the person speaking. He asked the question without saying a word.

_Is it him?_

Gibbs just nodded.

Tim wasn't sure he wanted to turn around. He took a deep breath and turned.

"Hi, Dad," he said, keeping his voice neutral.

He saw some movement from Tony and Abby. He gestured slightly, not wanting to muddle this up with their attempts to defend him.

Tim was surprised to see how much older his father looked.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your mother told me you'd be here. I've been looking for you all day."

"I thought you'd be busy."

"No."

"What do you want?" Tim asked.

"Can we talk?"

"The parade is starting soon. I'm not missing that, not for anything," Tim said.

"It won't take long."

"Okay."

They walked a few steps away from the group, giving the illusion of privacy.

"What is it, Dad?"

John took a breath and looked around at the crowds of veterans.

"I'm... I treated you wrong."

"Yes, you did."

John still wasn't looking at him.

"I haven't stopped thinking about what your CO told me."

Tim's brow furrowed.

"Gibbs? When did you talk to _him_?"

"After your accident."

"Dad, it's been years since my accident."

"I don't have any excuse, Tim."

"No, you _don't_. Dad, you don't have _any_ excuse. What are you here for? You always told me to face things head on. If you have something to say, you need to say it. To _me_. To my face."

"You're right. I'm sorry. That's what I came here to say. I'm sorry for how I treated you and for taking so long to admit it. I'm not going to pretend that this is going to change everything. Maybe not anything, but you deserve to know, and if you want to, I'd like to try fixing what I broke."

Tim looked at his father for a long while. It was what he'd wanted his father to say, but he'd wanted it almost ten years ago. It seemed rather late in the game for his dad to say it now. But he also knew his father, that he was honest, that he didn't tend to say things just to make someone feel better. Tim also knew how hard this was for him to say.

"Dad...this isn't the place or the time to talk about this. If you're serious, then...maybe we can try...but not now."

As Tim expected his dad didn't protest. He nodded.

"I'm glad for...all of this, Tim." He waved his hand around at the mass of people. "You all deserve it. I won't keep you."

He stepped back, and Tim watched him go. He wasn't sure how he felt about his dad's attempt at this point. It wasn't that it was unwelcome, but he'd spent years giving next to no thought to his father because that was how he'd felt his father had treated him. To have this sudden shift was strange and not something that he could just accept without a lot of thought. He walked back.

"What did _he_ want?" Tony asked, sounding affronted.

"To apologize," Tim said.

"And?"

"I told him that I couldn't think about it now...and I definitely can't forgive him right now."

"I don't think you should at all," Tony said.

"I don't know if I can, but I need time to think about it. ...but right now...something else is more important. All this...but he's here for this. Maybe there can be more. Later."

He said it with some finality, hoping that they would take his cue and drop it.

They did.

They moved on to the parade staging area. There were thousands of veterans ready to march down Constitution Avenue. Many were on crutches or in wheelchairs. Others, Tim knew from personal experience, had scars that no one would be able to see. As he looked around at all the people assembled in this space, he wondered how many of the men who had died were there in spirit, ready to march with their brothers-in-arms one last time.

There were a number of Marines from Chu Lai right around him. Tim was happy to see the ones who had survived but he regretted those who had died. Finally, it was time to start walking. They walked together toward the memorial, and Tim heard applause. For the first time since he had returned from Vietnam, he heard applause instead of jeers. People wanted to cheer for them instead of harangue them for the actions of a few, for the decisions made by people in higher positions. Part of Tim wanted to tell them that he didn't want their applause, but he couldn't. He couldn't deny that it felt good to have approval...and he knew that his father was out there in the crowd somewhere, maybe with his mother and sister who had always supported him.

After the parade came the dedication. There were so many people there that it was hard to find a place to see. Gibbs managed to carve out a space where they could see the speakers and Tony, Gibbs, Abby, Ducky and Jimmy all crowded around to see. They listened to a fellow veteran, Everett Alvarez, Jr., and then to the keynote address by John Warner, a senator who had helped get the memorial built.

"_...for you, indeed, are a living memorial..."_

The words washed over him. He listened and heard but at the same time didn't really hear anything.

"_Victory can only hope to be achieved if we support those we send to fight..."_

After the words came the time to sing the national anthem. Tim found one of the many flags and focused on it. He sang with everyone else and then watched as the state and territorial flags were retired.

Then, Jan Scruggs read another quote. It was a poignant illustration of what Tim himself had felt.

"_...You were faithful, Levy, but your country was not..."_

And then, there was the statement that now there was a memorial to the people the country had wished to forget.

And another song. "God Bless America".

A moment of silence and then a closing prayer by a chaplain who had served in Vietnam.

"_Why have they been smitten?, he asked, and then for us there was no healing. We looked for peace but could find no good. We looked for a time of healing, and, behold, we found terror."_

Tim closed his eyes in recollection of how much those words resonated with his own experience.

"_God, let this monument and this dedication forever remind us that we will come together to mourn our dead. We will come together to reach out to our wounded. We will come together to remember and honor our brave. Only then may we have the vision to dream our dreams again. Only then may we have the faith to pray our prayers again. Only then may we have the courage to march together again – to stand together again – and–together–to help make this the kind of country, and the kind of world, for which we pray."_

In his mind, Tim was saying _yes_ over and over to the statements the chaplain was making. And with the final _amen_, he spoke the word with a deep reverence.

Then, there were more announcements and the retirement of the colors and then, the mass of people surged toward the memorial and away from the memorial. Tim himself wanted to get away from the crowds. The others seemed to feel the same way. They all drifted away from the memorial. They got dinner together and then made arrangements to get together again the next day.

Late that night, Tim lay in bed. He'd been trying to sleep for hours but failed. So he finally got up and went back to the memorial. It was quiet now, where before it had been crowded. He didn't need to approach the wall again. He just wanted to be here, but when he got closer, he saw one person slowly walking beside the wall, one hand dragging lightly along the surface.

There was something familiar about that figure. It had been years, but still...

"Ziva?"

The figure turned. He came close enough to see her face.

"Ziva," he said again.

She smiled.

"I hoped to see you here."

She hurried over and hugged him tightly. Tim hugged her back.

"Were you at the dedication?"

"No. I was only just able to come here. I wanted to be here for that. I knew it would be important to you."

"That's all right. I didn't expect to see you."

"It has been a long time, and after the suicide attack on IDF headquarters, I thought I might have to stay for much longer."

"I saw that on the news."

Ziva nodded briefly. Tim could see a new hardness in her gaze that had not been there the last time. He put a hand on her cheek. She smiled and the hardness softened somewhat.

"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," Tim said.

"It has been hard to get away. I traded one war for another war...but it will never end, I feel. We are fighting, but there is no end and we cannot go home because that is where we are...and it is where they are, too. We are both home and have nowhere else to go. I do not know if there is a solution."

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I hate that you are stuck in that all the time."

"I do not like it, either, but I cannot abandon my people."

Tim nodded.

"But if you ever need a break, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you. When I come here, I feel a calm that I do not get at home. I know your country has its problems, too, but you are not always under attack."

Tim put an arm around her, somehow feeling comfortable with the close contact that he usually avoided. Ziva leaned against him, and her new hardness made him fairly certain that there were few people she would do that with. They walked together to a bench and sat down. They sat in silence for a while, looking at the monuments and the memorial they'd just left.

"I felt from your letters that you had healed," Ziva said, finally. "And seeing you now, you have. You have a confidence that you did not have the last time I saw you. I am glad that you have it now."

Tim smiled. "I don't really feel all that confident most of the time."

Ziva laughed. "That does not surprise me. You are not one who recognizes his own strengths. Trust me when I say that you are much improved."

"Okay. I will. I've trusted you with a lot more, Ziva. I can trust you again."

"I am staying here for a few days. I hope that I can see you."

"Yes. Absolutely. Actually, tomorrow, we're all getting together for lunch. You should join us."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Tim said. "Yes, please, come."

"I would like to."

"Great. Do you have someplace to stay?"

"Yes. I have a hotel."

"Okay."

They got up together, sensing the end of their solitary contemplation. They'd had the same common feelings in Vietnam. They walked away from the Mall. Tim saw Ziva to a taxi and then, he looked around. There was something she had said that had got him thinking.

There was something he needed to say, something he should have said before. Yes, he could wait, and there was a chance that he'd be a disturbance, but he thought not. Not tonight. Any other night, probably, but not on this night after this day.

It was a bit of a drive out to Reston. He parked and looked at the house. He smiled at the sight of a light on. He walked up the stairs and knocked softly. The door opened.

"What are you doing here, Tim?" Gibbs asked. "Ducky's been in bed for hours."

"Not you?" Tim asked.

"No."

"I came to see you. Not Ducky."

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to say thank you, Gibbs."

"For what?"

"You did keep your promise."

Gibbs' brow furrowed for just a moment and then he smiled.

"You promised that we'd all go down together or we'd all succeed together. I owe you my life, and it took me a long time to appreciate that. I do now. I'm not perfect and I don't think I ever will be, but I have a life that I'm glad I have...and I wouldn't have had any life at all. You kept me from killing myself out in Vietnam. You kept me from hiding myself when I came back. You didn't let me give up when that's all I wanted to do. You made me a promise and you kept it even when I didn't want you to. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Tim smiled and then, he turned to leave.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank _you_."

That was all he said. That was all he _had_ to say.

Tim went home.

And he went to sleep.

FINIS!


End file.
